AROUND THE

WORLD IN
EIGHTY DAYS
Jules Verne

InfoBooks.org
 SYNOPSIS OF AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS

Around the World in Eighty Days is a novel by the acclaimed

French writer Jules Verne, published between 1872 and 1873.
The protagonist of this story, the gentleman Phileas Fogg, leads
a good life in London, until one day, he decides to bet 20,000
pounds that he could travel the world in 80 days.

He set off with his friend Jean Passepartout on October 2, 1872,

at 8:45 pm. From then on, an adventure full of humor and
heroism begins, between trains and steamboats. Finally, the
story concludes that what Fogg gains at the end of the journey
is much more valuable than money.

If you want to read more about this book you can visit the

following link

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne at

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● Spanish InfoLibros.org: La vuelta al mundo en ochenta días autor

Julio Verne

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CHAPTERI

In which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout accept each other, the

one as master, the other as man

OGG lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville

he house in which

ost noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed

always to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage,
about whom little was known, except that he was a polished
man of the world. People said that he resembled Byron,—at
least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil
Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas

Fogg was a Londoner. He was never seen on ’Change, nor at the
Bank, nor in the counting-rooms of the “City;” no ships ever
came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no
public employment; he had never been entered at any of the
Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’s Inn, or Gray’s
Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery,
or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or the Ecclesiastical
Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a
merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the

4
scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take
part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the
London

Institution, the Artisan’s Association or the Institution of Arts

and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous
societies which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic
to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of
abolishing pernicious insects.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was

all.

The way in which he got admission to this exclusive

club was simple enough.

He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an

open credit. His checks were regularly paid at sight from his
account current, which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him
best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr.
Fogg was the last person to whom to apply for the information.
He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for whenever
he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or
benevolent purpose, he supplied it quickly, and sometimes
anonymously. He was, in short, the least communicative of men.

5
He talked very little, and seemed all the more mysterious for his
taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open to
observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing
that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious
were fairly puzzled.

Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the

world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did
not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often
corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures
advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of
travellers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if
gifted with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his
predictions. He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the
spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented

himself from London for many years. Those who were honoured
by a better acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that
nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His
sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He
often won at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonized with
his nature; but his winnings never went into his purse, being
reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg played, not to win,
but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes a contest,

6
a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearying
struggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children,

which may happen to the most honest people; either relatives
or near friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone
in his house in Saville Row, whither none penetrated. A single
domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at
the club, at hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at
the same table, never taking his meals with other members,
much less bringing a guest with him; and went home at exactly
midnight, only to retire at once to bed. He never used the cosy
chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured members.
He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row, either
in sleeping or making his toilet. When he chose to take a walk, it
was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic
flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by
twenty red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue
painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined, all the
resources of the club—its kitchens and pantries, its buttery and
dairy—aided to crowd his table with their most succulent stores;
he was served by the gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes
with swan-skin soles, who proffered the viands in special
porcelain, and on the finest linen; club

7
decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and his
cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly
cooled with ice, brought at great cost from the American lakes.

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that

there is something good in eccentricity!

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was

exceedingly comfortable. The habits of its occupant were such
as to demand but little from the sole domestic; but Phileas Fogg
required him to be almost superhumanly prompt and regular.
On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed James Forster,
because that luckless youth had brought him shaving-water at
eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six; and he
was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house between
eleven and half-past.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his arm-chair, his feet close
together like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting
on his knees, his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily
watching a complicated clock which indicated the hours, the
minutes, the seconds, the days, the months, and the years. At
exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would, according to his daily
habit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy

apartment where Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster,
the dismissed servant, appeared.

“The new servant,” said he.

8
A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

“You are a Frenchman, I believe,” asked Phileas Fogg, “and

your name is John?”

“Jean, if monsieur pleases,” replied the new-comer, “Jean

Passepartout, a surname which has clung to me because I have
a natural aptness for going out of one business into another. I
believe I’m honest, monsieur, but, to

be outspoken, I’ve had several trades. I’ve been an itinerant

singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard, and
dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of
gymnastics, so as to make better use of my talents; and then I
was a sergeant fireman at Paris, and assisted at many a big
fire. But I quitted France five years ago, and, wishing to taste
the sweets of domestic life, took service as a valet here in
England. Finding myself out of place, and hearing that Monsieur
Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled gentleman in the
United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the hope of living
with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name of
Passepartout.”

“Passepartout suits me,” responded Mr. Fogg. “You are well

recommended to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my
conditions?”

9
“Yes, monsieur.” “Good. What time is it?”

“Twenty-two minutes after eleven,” returned Passepartout,

drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his
pocket.

“You are too slow,” said Mr. Fogg. “Pardon me, monsieur, it is
impossible—”

“You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it’s enough to

mention the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes
after eleven, a.m., this Wednesday, October 2nd, you are in my
service.”

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his
head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new
master going out. He heard it shut again; it was his
predecessor, James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout
remained alone in the house in Saville Row.

10
C H A P T E R II

In which Passepartout is convinced that he has at last found his

ideal

“ AITH,” muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, “I’ve

seen people at Madame Tussaud’s as lively as my new master!”

Madame Tussaud’s “people,” let it be said, are of wax, and are

much visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make
them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been
carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty
years of age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-
shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead
compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth
magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree
what physiognomists call “repose in action,” a quality of those
who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye,
Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure
which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on
canvas. Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the
idea of being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a
Leroy chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude

11
personified, and this was betrayed even in the expression of his
very hands and feet; for in men, as well as in animals, the limbs
themselves are expressive of the passions.

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready,

and was economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never
took one step too many, and always went to his destination by
the shortest cut; he made no superfluous gestures, and was
never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the most deliberate
person in the world, yet always reached his destination at the
exact moment.

He lived alone, and so to speak, outside of every social relation;

and as he knew that in this world account must be taken of
friction, and that friction retards, he never rubbed against
anybody.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he

had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a
valet, he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart.
Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces
depicted by Molière, with a bold gaze and a nose held high in
the air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a
trifle protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good
round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a
friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, his figure

12
almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his physical
powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days. His
brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for while the ancient
sculptors are said to have known eighteen methods of
arranging Minerva’s tresses, Passepartout was familiar with but
one of dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb
completed his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout’s lively nature

would agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the
new servant would turn out as absolutely methodical as his
master required; experience alone could solve the question.
Passepartout had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and
now yearned for repose; but so far he had failed to find it,
though he had already served in ten English

houses. But he could not take root in any of these; with chagrin,
he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,
constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for
adventure. His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of
Parliament, after passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns,
was too often brought home in the morning on policemen’s
shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentleman
whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such
conduct; which being ill received, he took his leave. Hearing that

13
Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was
one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed
from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place
he was after. He presented himself, and was accepted, as has
been seen.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in

the house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay,
scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn
a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail’s shell,
lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these
purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story, he
recognized at once the room which he was to inhabit, and he
was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and speaking-tubes
afforded communication with the lower stories; while on the
mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg’s
bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same
instant. “That’s good, that’ll do,” said Passepartout to himself.

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon

inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of
the house. It comprised all that was required of the servant,
from eight in the morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg
rose, till half-past eleven, when he left the house for the Reform
Club,—all the details of service, the

14
tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the shaving-
water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at twenty
minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseen that
was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour
at which the methodical gentleman retired.

Mr. Fogg’s wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste.
Each pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating
the time of year and season at which they were in turn to be
laid out for wearing; and the same system was applied to the
master’s shoes. In short, the house in Saville Row, which must
have been a very temple of disorder and unrest under the
illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort, and
method idealized. There was no study, nor were there books,
which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the
Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of
law and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe
stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as
burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting
weapons anywhere; everything betrayed the most tranquil and
peaceable habits.

Having scrutinized the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his

hands, a broad smile overspread his features, and he said
joyfully, “This is just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together,
Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real
machine; well, I don’t mind serving a machine.”

15
C H A P T E R III

In which a conversation takes place which seems likely to cost

Phileas Fogg dear

HILEAS FOGG, having shut the door of his house at half-past

eleven, and having put his right foot before his left five hundred
and seventy-five times, and his

left foot before his right five hundred and seventy-six times,
reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which
could not have cost less than three millions. He repaired at once
to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a
tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an
autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the
cover of which had already been laid for him. His breakfast
consisted of a side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a
scarlet slice of roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb
and gooseberry tart, and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole
being washed down with several cups of tea, for which the
Reform is famous. He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and
directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous
apartment adorned with lavishly framed paintings. A flunkey
handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a
skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation. The

16
perusal of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter
before four, whilst the Standard, his next task, occupied him till
the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr.

Fogg reappeared in the reading-room and sat down to the Pall

Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour later several
members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace,
where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg’s
usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John
Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a
brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of
England;—all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a
club which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

“Well, Ralph,” said Thomas Flanagan, “what about that

robbery?”

“Oh,” replied Stuart, “the bank will lose the money.” “On the
contrary,” broke in Ralph, “I hope we may put

our hands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all
the principal ports of America and the Continent, and he’ll be a
clever fellow if he slips through their fingers.”

“But have you got the robber’s description?” asked Stuart.

“In the first place, he is no robber at all,” returned Ralph,

positively.

17
“What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds,
no robber?”

“No.”

“Perhaps he’s a manufacturer, then.”

“The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman.”

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his
newspaper, who made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and
entered into the conversation. The affair which formed its
subject, and which was town talk, had occurred three days
before at the Bank of England. A package of bank-notes, to the
value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the
principal cashier’s table, that functionary being at the moment
engaged in registering

the receipt of three shillings and sixpence. Of course he could

not have his eyes everywhere. Let it be observed that the Bank
of England reposes a touching confidence in the honesty of the
public. There are neither guards nor gratings to protect its
treasures; gold, silver, bank-notes are freely exposed, at the
mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English customs
relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he
had the curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven
or eight pounds. He took it up, scrutinized it, passed it to his

18
neighbour, he to the next man, and so on until the ingot, going
from hand to hand, was transferred to the end of a dark entry;
nor did it return to its place for half an hour. Meanwhile, the
cashier had not so much as raised his head. But in the present
instance things had not gone so smoothly. The package of
notes not being found when five o’clock sounded from the
ponderous clock in the “drawing office,” the amount was
passed to the account of profit and loss. As soon as the robbery
was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool,
Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports,
inspired by the proffered reward of two thousand pounds, and
five per cent. on the sum that might be recovered. Detectives
were also charged with narrowly watching those who arrived at
or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was at once
entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph

said, that the thief did not belong to a professional band. On
the day of the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished
manners, and with a well-to-do air, had been observed going to
and fro in the paying-room, where the crime was committed. A
description of him was easily procured, and sent to the
detectives; and some hopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one,
did not despair of his apprehension. The papers and clubs were
full of the affair,

19
and everywhere people were discussing the probabilities of a
successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was especially agitated,
several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was
likely to be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would
greatly stimulate their zeal and activity. But Stuart was far from
sharing this confidence; and as they placed themselves at the
whist-table, they continued to argue the matter. Stuart and
Flanagan played together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for
his partner. As the game proceeded the conversation ceased,
excepting between the rubbers, when it revived again.

“I maintain,” said Stuart, “that the chances are in favour of the

thief, who must be a shrewd fellow.”

“Well, but where can he fly to?” asked Ralph. “No country is safe
for him.”

“Pshaw!”

“Where could he go, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know that. The world is big enough.”

“It was once,” said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. “Cut, sir,” he
added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up
its thread.

“What do you mean by ‘once’? Has the world grown smaller?”

20
“Certainly,” returned Ralph. “I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world
has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times
more quickly than a hundred years ago. And that is why the
search for this thief will be more likely to succeed.”

“And also why the thief can get away more easily.” “Be so good
as to play, Mr. Stuart,” said Phileas Fogg.

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the
hand was finished, said eagerly: “You have a strange

way, Ralph, of proving that the world has grown smaller. So,
because you can go round it in three months—”

“In eighty days,” interrupted Phileas Fogg.

“That is true, gentlemen,” added John Sullivan. “Only eighty

days, now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on
the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, has been opened. Here is
the estimate made by the Daily Telegraph:—

From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and

Brindisi, by rail and steamboats 7 days

From Suez to Bombay, by steamer 13 ”

From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail 3 ”

21
From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer 13 ”

From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by

steamer 6 ”

From Yokohama to San Francisco, by

steamer 22 ”

From San Francisco to New York, by rail 7 ”

From New York to London, by steamer and

rail 9 ”

Total 80 days.

“Yes, in eighty days!” exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement

made a false deal. “But that doesn’t take into account bad
weather, contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so
on.”

“All included,” returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite

the discussion.

“But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,” replied

Stuart; “suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans,
and scalp the passengers!”

22
“All included,” calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down
the cards, “Two trumps.”

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went
on: “You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically—”

“Practically also, Mr. Stuart.”

“I’d like to see you do it in eighty days.” “It depends on you.

Shall we go?”

“Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds

that such a journey, made under these conditions, is
impossible.”

“Quite possible, on the contrary,” returned Mr. Fogg. “Well,

make it, then!”

“The journey round the world in eighty days?” “Yes.”

“I should like nothing better.” “When?”

“At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense.”

“It’s absurd!” cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at

the persistency of his friend. “Come, let’s go on with the game.”

“Deal over again, then,” said Phileas Fogg. “There’s a false

deal.”

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put
it down again.

“Well, Mr. Fogg,” said he, “it shall be so: I will wager the four
thousand on it.”

23
“Calm yourself, my dear Stuart,” said Fallentin. “It’s only a joke.”

“When I say I’ll wager,” returned Stuart, “I mean it.” “All right,”
said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he

continued, “I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring’s

which I will willingly risk upon it.”

“Twenty thousand pounds!” cried Sullivan. “Twenty thousand

pounds, which you would lose by a single accidental delay!”

“The unforeseen does not exist,” quietly replied Phileas Fogg.

“But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least
possible time in which the journey can be made.”

“A well-used minimum suffices for everything.”

“But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically

from the trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon
the trains again.”

“I will jump—mathematically.” “You are joking.”

“A true Englishman doesn’t joke when he is talking about so

serious a thing as a wager,” replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly. “I
will bet twenty thousand pounds against any one who wishes
that I will make the tour of the world in eighty days or less; in
nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a hundred and fifteen
thousand two hundred minutes. Do you accept?”

24
“We accept,” replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan,
Flanagan, and Ralph, after consulting each other.

“Good,” said Mr. Fogg. “The train leaves for Dover at a quarter
before nine. I will take it.”

“This very evening?” asked Stuart.

“This very evening,” returned Phileas Fogg. He took out and

consulted a pocket almanac, and added, “As today is
Wednesday, the second of October, I shall be due in London, in
this very room of the Reform Club, on Saturday, the twenty-first
of December, at a quarter before nine p.m.; or else the twenty
thousand pounds, now deposited in my name at Baring’s, will
belong to you, in fact and in right, gentlemen. Here is a check
for the amount.”

A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed

by the six parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical
composure. He certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked
the twenty thousand pounds, half of his fortune, because he
foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to carry
out this difficult, not to say unattainable, project. As for his
antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the
value of their stake, as because they had some scruples about
betting under conditions so difficult to their friend.

25
The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the
game so that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for
departure.

“I am quite ready now,” was his tranquil response. “Diamonds

are trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen.”

26
C H A P T E R IV

In which Phileas Fogg astounds Passepartout, his servant

AVING won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his

friends, Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the
Reform Club.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme

of his duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty
of the inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for,
according to rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely
midnight.

Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out,

“Passepartout!”

Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called; it

was not the right hour.

“Passepartout!” repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.

Passepartout made his appearance.

“I’ve called you twice,” observed his master.

“But it is not midnight,” responded the other, showing his watch.

“I know it; I don’t blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in
ten minutes.”

27
A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he
had not comprehended his master.

“Monsieur is going to leave home?”

“Yes,” returned Phileas Fogg. “We are going round the world.”

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held

up his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was
he with stupefied astonishment.

“Round the world!” he murmured.

“In eighty days,” responded Mr. Fogg. “So we haven’t a moment

to lose.”

“But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying

his head from right to left.

“We’ll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and

three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We’ll buy
our clothes on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and
travelling-cloak, and some stout shoes, though we shall do little
walking. Make haste!”

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out,

mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered:
“That’s good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!”

28
He mechanically set about making the preparations for
departure. Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a
fool! Was this a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good! To
Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, who had been away
from France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on his
native soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it
would do his eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a
gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt—
but, then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this
so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-

bag, containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then,
still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and
descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been
observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw’s Continental

Railway Steam Transit and General Guide, with its time- tables
showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways. He
took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll
of Bank of England notes, which would pass wherever he might
go.

“You have forgotten nothing?” asked he. “Nothing, monsieur.”

29
“My mackintosh and cloak?” “Here they are.”

“Good. Take this carpet-bag,” handing it to Passepartout. “Take

good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it.”

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand

pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-

locked, and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove
rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway
station at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off
the box and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman,
was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman,
with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud, her
head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a
tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,
approached, and mournfully asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist,
and handed them to the beggar, saying, “Here, my good
woman. I’m glad that I met you;” and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his

master’s action touched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased,

Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he
perceived his five friends of the Reform.

30
“Well, gentlemen,” said he, “I’m off, you see; and if you will
examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge
whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon.”

“Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph

politely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.”

“You do not forget when you are due in London again?” asked
Stuart.

“In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a

quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.”

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class

carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the
whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas
Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung
mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout

suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg. “Alas! In my hurry—I—I

forgot—” “What?”

“To turn off the gas in my room!”

31
“Very well, young man,” returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; “it will burn—
at your expense.”

32
CHAPTERV

In which a new species of funds, unknown to the moneyed men,

appears on ’Change

HILEAS FOGG rightly suspected that his departure from London

would create a lively sensation at the West End. The news of the
bet spread through the

Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic of conversation to

its members. From the Club it soon got into the papers
throughout England. The boasted “tour of the world” was talked
about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if the subject
were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with Phileas
Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and declared
against him; it was absurd, impossible, they declared, that the
tour of the world could be made, except theoretically and on
paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existing means of
travelling. The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News,
and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
Fogg’s project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone
hesitatingly supported him. People in general thought him a
lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having
accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of its
proposer.

33
Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the
question, for geography is one of the pet subjects of the
English; and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg’s venture
were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers. At first some

rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex, espoused his

cause, which became still more popular when the Illustrated
London News came out with his portrait, copied from a
photograph in the Reform Club. A few readers of the Daily
Telegraph even dared to say, “Why not, after all? Stranger
things have come to pass.”

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the

bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the
question from every point of view, and demonstrated the utter
folly of the enterprise.

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle

imposed alike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement
of the times of departure and arrival, which was impossible, was
absolutely necessary to his success. He might, perhaps, reckon
on the arrival of trains at the designated hours, in Europe,
where the distances were relatively moderate; but when he
calculated upon crossing India in three days, and the United
States in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon
accomplishing his task? There were accidents to machinery, the

34
liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the
blocking up by snow,—were not all these against Phileas Fogg?
Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter,
at the mercy of the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the
best ocean steamers to be two or three days behind time? But a
single delay would suffice to fatally break the chain of
communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss, even by an
hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next, and that
would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

This article made a great deal of noise, and being copied into all
the papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash
tourist.

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who

are of a higher class than mere gamblers; to bet is

in the English temperament. Not only the members of the

Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers for or
against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting books as
if he were a race-horse. Bonds were issued, and made their
appearance on ’Change; “Phileas Fogg bonds” were offered at
par or at a premium, and a great business was done in them.
But five days after the article in the bulletin of the Geographical
Society appeared, the demand began to subside: “Phileas
Fogg” declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five,

35
then of ten, until at last nobody would take less than twenty,
fifty, a hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the

only advocate of Phileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was
fastened to his chair, would have given his fortune to be able to
make the tour of the world, if it took ten years; and he bet five
thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg. When the folly as well as the
uselessness of the adventure was pointed out to him, he
contented himself with replying, “If the thing is feasible, the first
to do it ought to be an Englishman.”

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going
against him, and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two
hundred to one; and a week after his departure, an incident
occurred which deprived him of backers at any price.

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine

o’clock one evening, when the following telegraphic despatch
was put into his hands:—

Suez to London.

ROWAN, COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, SCOTLAND

YARD: I’ve found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send without
delay warrant of arrest to Bombay.

FIX, Detective.

36
The effect of this despatch was instantaneous. The polished
gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His
photograph, which was hung with those of the rest of the
members at the Reform Club, was minutely examined, and it
betrayed, feature by feature, the description of the robber
which had been provided to the police. The mysterious habits of
Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden
departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round
the world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in
view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.

37
C H A P T E R VI

In which Fix, the detective, betrays a very natural impatience

HE circumstances under which this telegraphic despatch about

Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:—

The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental

Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons
burden, and five hundred horse-power, was due at eleven
o’clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez. The
Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via the
Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers belonging to
the company, always making more than ten knots an hour
between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez
and Bombay.

Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among

the crowd of natives and strangers who were sojourning at this
once straggling village—now, thanks to the enterprise of M.
Lesseps, a fast-growing town. One was the British consul at
Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the English Government,
and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson, was in the
habit of seeing, from his office window, English ships daily
passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old

38
roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of Good
Hope was abridged by at least a half. The other was a small,
slight-built personage, with a

nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out from under
eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching. He was just now
manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing
up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment. This was
Fix, one of the detectives who had been despatched from
England in search of the bank robber; it was his task to narrowly
watch every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all
who seemed to be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance
to the description of the criminal, which he had received two
days before from the police headquarters at London. The
detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining the
splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and
awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the
arrival of the steamer Mongolia.

“So you say, consul,” asked he for the twentieth time, “that this
steamer is never behind time?”

“No, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul. “She was bespoken yesterday
at Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a
craft. I repeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the

39
time required by the company’s regulations, and gained the
prize awarded for excess of speed.”

“Does she come directly from Brindisi?”

“Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and
she left there Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; she
will not be late. But really I don’t see how, from the description
you have, you will be able to recognize your man, even if he is
on board the Mongolia.”

“A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than

recognizes them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is
like a sixth sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling.
I’ve arrested more than one of

these gentlemen in my time, and, if my thief is on board, I’ll

answer for it, he’ll not slip through my fingers.”

“I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery.”

“A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds! We

don’t often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be so
contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of
shillings!”

“Mr. Fix,” said the consul, “I like your way of talking, and hope
you’ll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy. Don’t you

40
see, the description which you have there has a singular
resemblance to an honest man?”

“Consul,” remarked the detective, dogmatically, “great robbers

always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces
have only one course to take, and that is to remain honest;
otherwise they would be arrested off-hand. The artistic thing is,
to unmask honest countenances; it’s no light task, I admit, but a
real art.”

Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self- conceit.

Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated;

sailors of various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters,
fellahs, bustled to and fro as if the steamer were immediately
expected. The weather was clear, and slightly chilly. The
minarets of the town loomed above the houses in the pale rays
of the sun. A jetty pier, some two thousand yards long, extended
into the roadstead. A number of fishing-smacks and coasting
boats, some retaining the fantastic fashion of ancient galleys,
were discernible on the Red Sea.

As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit,

scrutinized the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.

It was now half-past ten.

“The steamer doesn’t come!” he exclaimed, as the port clock

struck.

41
“She can’t be far off now,” returned his companion. “How long
will she stop at Suez?”

“Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is thirteen

hundred and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of
the Red Sea, and she has to take in a fresh coal supply.”

“And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?” “Without

putting in anywhere.”

“Good,” said Fix. “If the robber is on board, he will no doubt get
off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in Asia
by some other route. He ought to know that he would not be
safe an hour in India, which is English soil.” “Unless,” objected
the consul, “he is exceptionally shrewd. An English criminal, you
know, is always better

concealed in London than anywhere else.”

This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and

meanwhile the consul went away to his office. Fix, left alone,
was more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the
robber was on board the Mongolia. If he had indeed left London
intending to reach the New World, he would naturally take the
route via India, which was less watched and more difficult to
watch than that of the Atlantic. But Fix’s reflections were soon
interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which announced
the arrival of the Mongolia. The porters and fellahs rushed down
the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the shore to go

42
and meet the steamer. Soon her gigantic hull appeared passing
along between the banks, and eleven o’clock struck as she
anchored in the road. She brought an unusual number of
passengers, some of whom remained on deck to scan the
picturesque panorama of the town, while the greater part
disembarked in the boats, and landed on the quay.

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and

figure which made its appearance. Presently one of the
passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through the

importunate crowd of porters, came up to him, and politely

asked if he could point out the English consulate, at the same
time showing a passport which he wished to have visaed. Fix
instinctively took the passport, and with a rapid glance read the
description of its bearer. An involuntary motion of surprise
nearly escaped him, for the description in the passport was
identical with that of the bank robber which he had received
from Scotland Yard.

“Is this your passport?” asked he. “No, it’s my master’s.”

“And your master is—” “He stayed on board.”

“But he must go to the consul’s in person, so as to establish his

identity.”

“Oh, is that necessary?” “Quite indispensable.”

43
“And where is the consulate?”

“There, on the corner of the square,” said Fix, pointing to a

house two hundred steps off.

“I’ll go and fetch my master, who won’t be much pleased,

however, to be disturbed.”

The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.

44
C H A P T E R VII

Which once more demonstrates the uselessness of passports as

aids to detectives

HE detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way
to the consul’s office, where he was at once admitted to the
presence of that official.

“Consul,” said he, without preamble, “I have strong reasons for

believing that my man is a passenger on the Mongolia.” And he
narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.

“Well, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul, “I shall not be sorry to see the
rascal’s face; but perhaps he won’t come here,— that is, if he is
the person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn’t quite like to
leave traces of his flight behind him; and besides, he is not
obliged to have his passport counter- signed.”

“If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come.”

“To have his passport visaed?”

“Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and
aiding in the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite the
thing for him to do; but I hope you will not visa the passport.”

“Why not? If the passport is genuine, I have no right to refuse.”

45
“Still I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to
arrest him from London.”

“Ah, that’s your look-out. But I cannot—”

The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock
was heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom
was the servant whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who
was his master, held out his passport with the request that the
consul would do him the favour to visa it. The consul took the
document and carefully read it, whilst Fix observed, or rather
devoured, the stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.

“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” said the consul, after reading the
passport.

“I am.”

“And this man is your servant?”

“He is; a Frenchman, named Passepartout.” “You are from

London?”

“Yes.”

“And you are going—” “To Bombay.”

“Very good, sir. You know that a visa is useless, and that no
passport is required?”

“I know it, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg; “but I wish to prove, by

your visa, that I came by Suez.”

“Very well, sir.”

46
The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after
which he added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary
fee, coldly bowed, and went out, followed by his servant.

“Well?” queried the detective.

“Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man,” replied the
consul.

“Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul, that
this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the
robber whose description I have received?”

“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—” “I’ll

make certain of it,” interrupted Fix. “The servant seems to me
less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s a Frenchman, and
can’t help talking. Excuse me for a little

while, consul.”

Fix started off in search of Passepartout.

Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the

quay, gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the
Mongolia in a boat, and descended to his cabin. He took up his
note-book, which contained the following memoranda:—

47
“Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m. “Reached
Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m. “Left Paris, Thursday,
at 8.40 a.m.

“Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at

6.35 a.m.

“Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.

“Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m. “Sailed on

the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m. “Reached Suez, Wednesday,
October 9th, at 11 a.m.

“Total of hours spent, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half.”

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,

indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the
stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point,—Paris,
Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong,
Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, and London,—from the
2nd of October to the 21st of December; and giving a space for
setting down the gain made or the loss suffered on arrival of
each locality. This methodical record thus contained an account
of everything needed, and Mr.

Fogg always knew whether he was behindhand or in advance of

his time. On this Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at
Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither gained nor lost.

48
He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once
thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen
who are wont to see foreign countries through the eyes of their
domestics.

49
C H A P T E R VIII

In which Passepartout talks rather more, perhaps, than is

prudent

IX soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking

about on the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was
obliged not to see anything.

“Well, my friend,” said the detective, coming up with him, “is

your passport visaed?”

“Ah, it’s you, is it, monsieur?” responded Passepartout. “Thanks,

yes, the passport is all right.”

“And you are looking about you?”

“Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a

dream. So this is Suez?”

“Yes.”

“In Egypt?” “Certainly, in Egypt.” “And in Africa?”

“In Africa.”

“In Africa!” repeated Passepartout. “Just think, monsieur, I had

no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw
of Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty
minutes before nine in the morning, between the Northern and

50
the Lyons stations, through the windows of a car, and in a
driving rain! How I regret not having seen once more Père la
Chaise and the circus in the Champs Elysées!”

“You are in a great hurry, then?”

“I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes
and shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-
bag.”

“I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want.”

“Really, monsieur, you are very kind.”

And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as

they went along.

“Above all,” said he; “don’t let me lose the steamer.” “You have
plenty of time; it’s only twelve o’clock.”

Passepartout pulled out his big watch. “Twelve!” he exclaimed;

“why it’s only eight minutes before ten.”

“Your watch is slow.”

“My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down

from my great-grandfather! It doesn’t vary five minutes in the
year, it’s a perfect chronometer, look you.”

51
“I see how it is,” said Fix. “You have kept London time, which is
two hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your
watch at noon in each country.”

“I regulate my watch? Never!”

“Well, then, it will not agree with the sun.”

“So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be
wrong, then!”

And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a
defiant gesture. After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: “You
left London hastily, then?”

“I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o’clock in the evening,

Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three quarters of
an hour afterwards we were off.”

“But where is your master going?”

“Always straight ahead. He is going round the world.” “Round

the world?” cried Fix.

“Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between

us, I don’t believe a word of it. That wouldn’t be common sense.
There’s something else in the wind.”

“Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?” “I should say he was.”

“Is he rich?”

52
“No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand-new
bank-notes with him. And he doesn’t spare the money on the
way, either: he has offered a large reward to the engineer of the
Mongolia if he gets us to Bombay well in advance of time.”

“And you have known your master a long time?”

“Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London.”

The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and

excited detective may be imagined. The hasty departure from
London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr.
Fogg; his eagerness to reach distant countries; the pretext of an
eccentric and foolhardy bet,—all confirmed Fix in his theory. He
continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he
really knew little or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary
existence in London, was said to be rich, though no one knew
whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable
in his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would
not land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.

“Is Bombay far from here?” asked Passepartout. “Pretty far. It

is a ten days’ voyage by sea.” “And in what country is
Bombay?”

“India.”

“In Asia?” “Certainly.”

“The deuce! I was going to tell you,—there’s one thing that

worries me,—my burner!”

53
“What burner?”

“My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this

moment burning—at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur,
that I lose two shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly
sixpence more than I earn; and you will understand that the
longer our journey—”

Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout’s trouble about the

gas? It is not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating
a project. Passepartout and he had now reached the shop,
where Fix left his companion to make his purchases, after
recommending him not to miss the steamer, and hurried back
to the consulate. Now that he was fully convinced, Fix had quite
recovered his equanimity.

“Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. I have spotted

my man. He passes himself off as an odd stick, who is going
round the world in eighty days.”

“Then he’s a sharp fellow,” returned the consul, “and counts on

returning to London after putting the police of the two
continents off his track.”

“We’ll see about that,” replied Fix. “But are you not mistaken?”

“I am not mistaken.”

“Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he

had passed through Suez?”

“Why? I have no idea; but listen to me.”

54
He reported in a few words the most important parts of his
conversation with Passepartout.

“In short,” said the consul, “appearances are wholly against this
man. And what are you going to do?”

“Send a despatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be

despatched instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the
Mongolia, follow my rogue to India, and there, on English
ground, arrest him politely, with my warrant in my hand, and my
hand on his shoulder.”

Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the

detective took leave of the consul, and repaired to the
telegraph office, whence he sent the despatch which we have
seen to the London police office. A quarter of an hour later
found Fix, with a small bag in his hand, proceeding on board the
Mongolia; and ere many moments longer, the notable steamer
rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.

55
C H A P T E R IX

In which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean prove propitious to
the designs of Phileas Fogg

HE distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen

hundred and ten miles, and the regulations of the company
allow the steamers one hundred and

thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The Mongolia, thanks

to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so
rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably
within that time. The greater part of the passengers from
Brindisi were bound for India—some for Bombay, others for
Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that
a railway crosses the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers
was a number of officials and military officers of various
grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British
forces, or commanding the Sepoy troops and receiving high
salaries ever since the central government has assumed the
powers of the East India Company; for the sub-lieutenants get
£280, brigadiers, £2400, and generals of division, £4000. What
with the military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on
their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time
passed quickly on the Mongolia. The best of fare was spread

56
upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight
o’clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets
twice a day; and

the hours were whiled away, when the sea was tranquil, with
music, dancing, and games.

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like
most long and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the
African or Asian coast, the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled
fearfully. Then the ladies speedily disappeared below; the
pianos were silent; singing and dancing suddenly ceased. Yet
the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or
wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas
Fogg doing all this time? It might be thought that, in his
anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the
wind, the disorderly raging of the billows—every chance, in
short, which might force the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and
thus interrupt his journey. But if he thought of these possibilities,
he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom

no incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship’s
chronometers, and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon
the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes of the Red
Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognize the historic

57
towns and villages which, along its borders, raised their
picturesque outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear of
the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always
spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient navigators
never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample
sacrifices. How did this eccentric personage pass his time on
the Mongolia? He made his four hearty meals every day,
regardless of the most persistent rolling and pitching on the
part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably, for he
had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself. A
tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus
Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-
general of the English army, who

was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party,

and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in
absorbing silence.

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and

took his meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather
enjoyed the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a
great interest in the scenes through which they were passing,
and consoled himself with the delusion that his master’s whim
would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after leaving

58
Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had
walked and chatted on the quays.

“If I am not mistaken,” said he, approaching this person with

his most amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so kindly
volunteered to guide me at Suez?”

“Ah! I quite recognize you. You are the servant of the strange
Englishman—”

“Just so, Monsieur—” “Fix.”

“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed to find

you on board. Where are you bound?”

“Like you, to Bombay.”

“That’s capital! Have you made this trip before?” “Several times.
I am one of the agents of the Peninsular

Company.”

“Then you know India?”

“Why—yes,” replied Fix, who spoke cautiously. “A curious place,

this India?”

“Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas,

tigers, snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see
the sights.”

“I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought
not to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway

59
train, and from a railway train upon a steamer again,
pretending to make the tour of the world in eighty

days! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will cease at
Bombay.”

“And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most natural
tone in the world.

“Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it’s the sea
air.”

“But I never see your master on deck.” “Never; he hasn’t the

least curiosity.”

“Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in

eighty days may conceal some secret errand— perhaps a
diplomatic mission?”

“Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor
would I give half-a-crown to find out.”

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of
chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain the
worthy man’s confidence. He frequently offered him a glass of
whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which
Passepartout never failed to accept with graceful alacrity,
mentally pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.

60
Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the
13th, Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees
were growing, was sighted, and on the mountains beyond were
espied vast coffee-fields. Passepartout was ravished to behold
this celebrated place, and thought that, with its circular walls
and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense coffee cup and
saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait of
Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic “The Bridge of Tears,”
and the next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of
Aden harbour, to take in coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is
a serious one at such distances from the coal mines; it costs the
Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a
year. In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds
sterling a ton.

The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to

traverse before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain
four hours at Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was
foreseen, did not affect Phileas Fogg’s programme; besides, the
Mongolia, instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th,
when she was due, arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a
gain of fifteen hours.

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the
passport again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa

61
procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former
habits; while Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered
about among the mixed population of Somalis, Banyans,
Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-
five thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon
the fortifications which make this place the Gibraltar of the
Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the English engineers
were still at work, two thousand years after the engineers of
Solomon.

“Very curious, very curious,” said Passepartout to himself, on

returning to the steamer. “I see that it is by no means useless to
travel, if a man wants to see something new.” At six p.m. the
Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon
once more on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-
eight hours in which to reach Bombay, and the sea was
favourable, the wind being in the north-west, and all sails aiding
the engine. The steamer rolled but little, the ladies, in fresh
toilets, reappeared on deck, and the singing and dancing were
resumed. The trip was being accomplished most successfully,
and Passepartout was enchanted with the congenial companion
which chance had secured him in the person of the delightful
Fix. On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in sight
of the Indian coast: two hours later the pilot came on board. A
range of hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the

62
rows of palms which adorn Bombay came distinctly into view.
The steamer entered the road formed by the islands in the bay,
and at half-past four she hauled up at the quays of Bombay.

Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber of

the voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold
stroke, captured all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine
campaign with a brilliant victory.

The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on

the 20th. This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his
departure from London, and he calmly entered the fact in the
itinerary, in the column of gains.

63
CHAPTERX

In which Passepartout is only too glad to get off with the loss of
his shoes

VERYBODY knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with

its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called
India, embraces fourteen

hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally

a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The
British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the
larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general
stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in
Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven

hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one
hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A
considerable portion of India is still free from British authority;
and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are
absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company
was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a
foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras,
down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually

64
annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native
chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-
general and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East
India Company has now

passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly

under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as
well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous

methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or
unwieldy coaches; now, fast steamboats ply on the Indus and
the Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the
main line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula
from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not
run in a direct line across India. The distance between Bombay
and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to
eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase
this distance by more than a third.

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsular Railway is as

follows:—Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing
to the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the
Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor,
skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends
to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at

65
Benares, then departs from the river a little, and, descending
south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of
Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.

The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half- past four

p.m.; at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.

Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the
steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon
him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular
step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock,
directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of
Bombay—its famous city hall, its

splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques,

synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on
Malabar Hill with its two polygonal towers—he cared not a straw
to see them. He would not deign to examine even the
masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea,
concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of
Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of
Salcette.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas

Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered
dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord

66
especially recommended a certain giblet of “native rabbit,” on
which he prided himself.

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced
sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and
on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, “Is this
rabbit, sir?”

“Yes, my lord,” the rogue boldly replied, “rabbit from the

jungles.”

“And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?” “Mew, my
lord! what, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—” “Be so good,
landlord, as not to swear, but remember

this: cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals.

That was a good time.”

“For the cats, my lord?”

“Perhaps for the travellers as well!”

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone
on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the
headquarters of the Bombay police. He made himself known as
a London detective, told his business at Bombay, and the
position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and
nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had
not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet been time for
it to arrive. Fix was sorely

67
disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the
director of the Bombay police. This the director refused, as the
matter concerned the London office, which alone could legally
deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, and was fain to resign
himself to await the arrival of the important document; but he
was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as
long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not doubt for a moment,
any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg would remain
there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.

Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master’s

orders on leaving the Mongolia, than he saw at once that they
were to leave Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and
that the journey would be extended at least as far as Calcutta,
and perhaps beyond that place. He began to ask himself if this
bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was not really in good earnest,
and whether his fate was not in truth forcing him, despite his
love of repose, around the world in eighty days!

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took

a leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of
people of many nationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed
caps, Banyans with round turbans, Sindis with square bonnets,
Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed Armenians—were
collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These
descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the most thrifty, civilized,
intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among whom are

68
counted the richest native merchants of Bombay—were
celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and
shows, in the midst of which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in
rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced
airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols and the
clanging of tambourines. It is needless to say that Passepartout
watched

these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth,

and that his countenance was that of the greenest booby
imaginable.

Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew

him unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last,
having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he
was turning his steps towards the station, when he happened to
espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with
an irresistible desire to see its interior. He was quite ignorant
that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples,
and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving
their shoes outside the door. It may be said here that the wise
policy of the British Government severely punishes a disregard
of the practices of the native religions.

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple

tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin

69
ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when of a
sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He
looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell
upon him, tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud,
savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his
feet again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his long-
gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of
his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs
could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling
with the crowd in the streets.

At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless,

and having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes,
rushed breathlessly into the station.

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he
was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the
platform. He had resolved to follow the supposed robber

to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not

observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix
heard him relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.

“I hope that this will not happen again,” said Phileas Fogg,
coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite
crestfallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on the

70
point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him
which induced him to alter his plan.

“No, I’ll stay,” muttered he. “An offence has been committed on
Indian soil. I’ve got my man.”

Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train
passed out into the darkness of the night.

71
C H A P T E R XI

In which Phileas Fogg secures a curious means of conveyance

at a fabulous price

HE train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a

number of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo
merchants, whose business called

them to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode in the same

carriage with his master, and a third passenger occupied a seat
opposite to them. This was Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr.
Fogg’s whist partners on the Mongolia, now on his way to join
his corps at Benares. Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who
had greatly distinguished himself in the last Sepoy revolt. He
made India his home, only paying brief visits to England at rare
intervals; and was almost as familiar as a native with the
customs, history, and character of India and its people. But
Phileas Fogg, who was not travelling, but only describing a
circumference, took no pains to inquire into these subjects; he
was a solid body, traversing an orbit around the terrestrial
globe, according to the laws of rational mechanics. He was at
this moment calculating in his mind the number of hours spent
since his departure from London, and, had it been in his nature
to make a useless demonstration, would have rubbed his hands

72
for satisfaction. Sir Francis Cromarty had observed the oddity
of his travelling companion—although the only opportunity he
had for studying him had been while he was dealing the cards,

and between two rubbers—and questioned himself whether a

human heart really beat beneath this cold exterior, and whether
Phileas Fogg had any sense of the beauties of nature. The
brigadier-general was free to mentally confess, that, of all the
eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparable to
this product of the exact sciences.

Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of
going round the world, nor the circumstances under which he
set out; and the general only saw in the wager a useless
eccentricity, and a lack of sound common- sense. In the way
this strange gentleman was going on, he would leave the world
without having done any good to himself or anybody else.

An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts
and the island of Salcette, and had got into the open country. At
Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line which
descends towards south-eastern India by Kandallah and
Pounah; and, passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the
mountains, with their basalt bases, and their summits crowned
with thick and verdant forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis
Cromarty exchanged a few words from time to time, and now

73
Sir Francis, reviving the conversation, observed, “Some years
ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay at this point,
which would probably have lost you your wager.”

“How so, Sir Francis?”

“Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains,

which the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on
ponies to Kandallah, on the other side.”

“Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least,”

said Mr. Fogg. “I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of
certain obstacles.”

“But, Mr. Fogg,” pursued Sir Francis, “you run the risk of having
some difficulty about this worthy fellow’s

adventure at the pagoda.” Passepartout, his feet comfortably

wrapped in his travelling-blanket, was sound asleep, and did not
dream that anybody was talking about him. “The Government is
very severe upon that kind of offence. It takes particular care
that the religious customs of the Indians should be respected,
and if your servant were caught—”

“Very well, Sir Francis,” replied Mr. Fogg; “if he had been caught
he would have been condemned and punished, and then would
have quietly returned to Europe. I don’t see how this affair
could have delayed his master.”

74
The conversation fell again. During the night the train left the
mountains behind, and passed Nassik, and the next day
proceeded over the flat, well-cultivated country of the
Khandeish, with its straggling villages, above which rose the
minarets of the pagodas. This fertile territory is watered by
numerous small rivers and limpid streams, mostly tributaries of
the Godavery.

Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realize that

he was actually crossing India in a railway train. The
locomotive, guided by an English engineer and fed with English
coal, threw out its smoke upon cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove,
and pepper plantations, while the steam curled in spirals around
groups of palm-trees, in the midst of which were seen
picturesque bungalows, viharis (a sort of abandoned
monasteries), and marvellous temples enriched by the
exhaustless ornamentation of Indian architecture. Then they
came upon vast tracts extending to the horizon, with jungles
inhabited by snakes and tigers, which fled at the noise of the
train; succeeded by forests penetrated by the railway, and still
haunted by elephants which, with pensive eyes, gazed at the
train as it passed. The travellers crossed, beyond Malligaum, the
fatal country so often stained with blood by the sectaries of the
goddess Kali. Not far off rose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas,
and the famous

75
Aurungabad, capital of the ferocious Aureng-Zeb, now the chief
town of one of the detached provinces of the kingdom of the
Nizam. It was thereabouts that Feringhea, the Thuggee chief,
king of the stranglers, held his sway. These ruffians, united by a
secret bond, strangled victims of every age in honour of the
goddess Death, without ever shedding blood; there was a
period when this part of the country could scarcely be travelled
over without corpses being found in every direction. The English
Government has succeeded in greatly diminishing these
murders, though the Thuggees still exist, and pursue the
exercise of their horrible rites.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor, where

Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers,
ornamented with false pearls, in which, with evident vanity, he
proceeded to incase his feet. The travellers made a hasty
breakfast, and started off for Assurghur, after skirting for a little
the banks of the small river Tapty, which empties into the Gulf
of Cambray, near Surat.

Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie. Up to his

arrival at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey
would end there; but now that they were plainly whirling across
India at full speed, a sudden change had come over the spirit of
his dreams. His old vagabond nature returned to him; the
fantastic ideas of his youth once more took possession of him.
He came to regard his master’s project as intended in good
earnest, believed in the reality of the bet, and therefore in the

76
tour of the world, and the necessity of making it without fail
within the designated period. Already he began to worry about
possible delays, and accidents which might happen on the way.
He recognized himself as being personally interested in the
wager, and trembled at the thought that he might have been
the means of losing it by his unpardonable folly of the night
before. Being much less cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he was
much more

restless, counting and recounting the days passed over, uttering

maledictions when the train stopped, and accusing it of
sluggishness, and mentally blaming Mr. Fogg for not having
bribed the engineer. The worthy fellow was ignorant that, while
it was possible by such means to hasten the rate of a steamer,
it could not be done on the railway.

The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which

separate the Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening. The
next day Sir Francis Cromarty asked Passe- partout what time
it was; to which, on consulting his watch, he replied that it was
three in the morning. This famous timepiece, always regulated
on the Greenwich meridian, which was now some seventy-seven
degrees westward, was at least five 1 hours slow. Sir Francis
corrected Passepartout’s time, whereupon the latter made the
same remark that he had done to Fix; and upon the general

77
insisting that the watch should be regulated in each new
meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that is in the
face of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four
minutes for each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately
refused to alter his watch, which he kept at London time. It was
an innocent delusion which could harm no one.

The train stopped, at eight o’clock, in the midst of a glade some

fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several
bungalows and workmen’s cabins. The conductor, passing along
the carriages, shouted, “Passengers will get out here!”

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation;

but the general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst of
this forest of dates and acacias.

1 Both Towle’s translation and the original French edition say

four hours, but, actually, at this point Passepartout’s watch
would have been at least five hours behind (one hour for every
15 degrees of longitude between his location and the Greenwich
meridian).—J.M.

Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily

returned, crying: “Monsieur, no more railway!”

“What do you mean?” asked Sir Francis.

78
“I mean to say that the train isn’t going on.”

The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly

followed him, and they proceeded together to the conductor.

“Where are we?” asked Sir Francis. “At the hamlet of Kholby.”

“Do we stop here?”

“Certainly. The railway isn’t finished.” “What! Not finished?”

“No. There’s still a matter of fifty miles to be laid from here to

Allahabad, where the line begins again.”

“But the papers announced the opening of the railway

throughout.”

“What would you have, officer? The papers were mistaken.”

“Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta,” retorted Sir

Francis, who was growing warm.

“No doubt,” replied the conductor; “but the passengers know

that they must provide means of transportation for themselves
from Kholby to Allahabad.”

Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout would willingly have

knocked the conductor down, and did not dare to look at his
master.

“Sir Francis,” said Mr. Fogg, quietly, “we will, if you please, look
about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad.”

“Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage.” “No, Sir

Francis; it was foreseen.”

79
“What! You knew that the way—”

“Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner
or later arise on my route. Nothing, therefore,

is lost. I have two days which I have already gained to sacrifice.

A steamer leaves Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th.
This is the 22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in time.”

There was nothing to say to so confident a response.

It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at

this point. The papers were like some watches, which have a
way of getting too fast, and had been premature in their
announcement of the completion of the line. The greater part of
the travellers were aware of this interruption, and leaving the
train, they began to engage such vehicles as the village could
provide—four-wheeled palkigharis, waggons drawn by zebus,
carriages that looked like perambulating pagodas, palanquins,
ponies, and what not.

Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village
from end to end, came back without having found anything.

“I shall go afoot,” said Phileas Fogg.

Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry

grimace, as he thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian
shoes. Happily he too had been looking about him, and, after a

80
moment’s hesitation, said, “Monsieur, I think I have found a
means of conveyance.”

“What?”

“An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives

but a hundred steps from here.”

“Let’s go and see the elephant,” replied Mr. Fogg.

They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within

some high palings, was the animal in question. An Indian came
out of the hut, and, at their request, conducted them within the
enclosure. The elephant, which its owner had reared, not for a
beast of burden, but for warlike purposes, was half
domesticated. The Indian had begun

already, by often irritating him, and feeding him every three

months on sugar and butter, to impart to him a ferocity not in
his nature, this method being often employed by those who
train the Indian elephants for battle. Happily, however, for Mr.
Fogg, the animal’s instruction in this direction had not gone far,
and the elephant still preserved his natural gentleness. Kiouni—
this was the name of the beast—could doubtless travel rapidly
for a long time, and, in default of any other means of
conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him. But elephants are
far from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce; the

81
males, which alone are suitable for circus shows, are much
sought, especially as but few of them are domesticated. When,
therefore, Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he
refused point-blank. Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive
sum of ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to
Allahabad. Refused. Twenty pounds? Refused also. Forty
pounds? Still refused. Passepartout jumped at each advance;
but the Indian declined to be tempted. Yet the offer was an
alluring one, for, supposing it took the elephant fifteen hours to
reach Allahabad, his owner would receive no less than six
hundred pounds sterling.

Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed

to purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand
pounds for him. The Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to
make a great bargain, still refused.

Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to
reflect before he went any further; to which that gentleman
replied that he was not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet
of twenty thousand pounds was at stake, that the elephant was
absolutely necessary to him, and that he would secure him if he
had to pay twenty times his value. Returning to the Indian,
whose small, sharp eyes, glistening with avarice, betrayed that
with him it was only a question of

how great a price he could obtain, Mr. Fogg offered first twelve
hundred, then fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand

82
pounds. Passepartout, usually so rubicund, was fairly white with
suspense.

At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.

“What a price, good heaven!” cried Passepartout, “for an

elephant!”

It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively

easy. A young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his
services, which Mr. Fogg accepted, promising so generous a
reward as to materially stimulate his zeal. The elephant was led
out and equipped. The Parsee, who was an accomplished
elephant driver, covered his back with a sort of saddle-cloth,
and attached to each of his flanks some curiously
uncomfortable howdahs.

Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some bank-notes which he

extracted from the famous carpet-bag, a proceeding that
seemed to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals. Then he
offered to carry Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier
gratefully accepted, as one traveller the more would not be
likely to fatigue the gigantic beast. Provisions were purchased
at Kholby, and while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the howdahs
on either side, Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth
between them. The Parsee perched himself on the elephant’s
neck, and at nine o’clock they set out from the village, the
animal marching off through the dense forest of palms by the
shortest cut.

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C H A P T E R XII

In which Phileas Fogg and his companions venture across the

Indian forests, and what ensued

N order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of

the line where the railway was still in process of being built. This
line, owing to the capricious turnings

of the Vindhia mountains, did not pursue a straight course. The

Parsee, who was quite familiar with the roads and paths in the
district, declared that they would gain twenty miles by striking
directly through the forest.

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in

the peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled
by the swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by
the skilful Parsee; but they endured the discomfort with true
British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a
glimpse of each other. As for Passepartout, who was mounted
on the beast’s back, and received the direct force of each
concussion as he trod along, he was very careful, in accordance
with his master’s advice, to keep his tongue from between his
teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten off short. The
worthy fellow bounced from the elephant’s neck to his rump,

84
and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board; yet he laughed in
the midst of his bouncing, and from time to time took a piece
of sugar out of his pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni’s trunk, who
received it without in the least slackening his regular trot.

After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him
an hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst
at a neighbouring spring, set to devouring the branches and
shrubs round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg
regretted the delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief.
“Why, he’s made of iron!” exclaimed the general, gazing
admiringly on Kiouni.

“Of forged iron,” replied Passepartout, as he set about

preparing a hasty breakfast.

At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country

soon presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and
dwarf-palms succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains,
dotted with scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of
syenite. All this portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented
by travellers, is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in
the most horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have
not been able to secure complete dominion over this territory,
which is subjected to the influence of rajahs, whom it is almost
impossible to reach in their inaccessible mountain fastnesses.

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The travellers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians,
who, when they perceived the elephant striding across country,
made angry and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them
as much as possible. Few animals were observed on the route;
even the monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and
grimaces which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.

In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the

worthy servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when
he got to Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him?
Impossible! The cost of transporting him would make him
ruinously expensive. Would he sell him, or set him free? The
estimable beast certainly deserved some consideration. Should
Mr. Fogg choose to make him, Passepartout, a present of
Kiouni, he would be very much

embarrassed; and these thoughts did not cease worrying him

for a long time.

The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the

evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a
ruined bungalow. They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that
day, and an equal distance still separated them from the station
of Allahabad.

The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a
few dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful. The

86
provisions purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the
travellers ate ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a
few disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady
snores. The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing,
bolstering himself against the trunk of a large tree. Nothing
occurred during the night to disturb the slumberers, although
occasional growls from panthers and chatterings of monkeys
broke the silence; the more formidable beasts made no cries or
hostile demonstration against the occupants of the bungalow.
Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest soldier overcome with
fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in uneasy dreams of the
bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumbered as
peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion in Saville
Row.

The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped
to reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would
only lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the
beginning of the tour. Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon
descended the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon
they passed by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the
branches of the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places,
thinking it safer to keep the open country, which lies along the
first depressions of the basin of the great river. Allahabad was
now only twelve miles to the north- east. They stopped under a
clump of bananas, the fruit of

87
which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was
amply partaken of and appreciated.

At two o’clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended

several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods.
They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the
journey seemed on the point of being successfully
accomplished, when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly
stopped.

It was then four o’clock.

“What’s the matter?” asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.

“I don’t know, officer,” replied the Parsee, listening attentively

to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.

The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a

distant concert of human voices accompanied by brass
instruments. Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg
patiently waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to the
ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the
thicket. He soon returned, saying,—

“A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent

their seeing us, if possible.”

The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at
the same time asking the travellers not to stir. He held himself
ready to bestride the animal at a moment’s notice, should flight

88
become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession
of the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the
thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer,

and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the
tambourines and cymbals. The head of the procession soon
appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away; and the
strange figures who performed the religious ceremony were

easily distinguished through the branches. First came the

priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in long lace
robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children, who
sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals
by the tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn
a car with large wheels, the spokes of which represented
serpents entwined with each other. Upon the car, which was
drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statue
with four arms, the body coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes,
dishevelled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It
stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate and headless giant.

Sir Francis, recognizing the statue, whispered, “The goddess

Kali; the goddess of love and death.”

“Of death, perhaps,” muttered back Passepartout, “but of love—

that ugly old hag? Never!”

89
The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado

around the statue; these were striped with ochre, and covered
with cuts whence their blood issued drop by drop,— stupid
fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies, still throw
themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins,
clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a
woman who faltered at every step, followed. This woman was
young, and as fair as a European. Her head and neck,
shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with
jewels and gems,—with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a
tunic bordered with gold, and covered with a light muslin robe,
betrayed the outline of her form.

The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent

contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at
their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a
corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man,
gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah,

wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls, a robe of

tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with
diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince.
Next came the musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs,

90
whose cries sometimes drowned the noise of the instruments;
these closed the procession.

Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance,

and, turning to the guide, said, “A suttee.”

The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession
slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks
disappeared in the depths of the wood. The songs gradually
died away; occasionally cries were heard in the distance, until at
last all was silence again.

Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as
the procession had disappeared, asked, “What is a ‘suttee’?”

“A suttee,” returned the general, “is a human sacrifice, but a

voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-
morrow at the dawn of day.”

“Oh, the scoundrels!” cried Passepartout, who could not repress

his indignation.

“And the corpse?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“Is that of the prince, her husband,” said the guide; “an
independent rajah of Bundelcund.”

“Is it possible,” resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not

the least emotion, “that these barbarous customs still exist in
India, and that the English have been unable to put a stop to
them?”

91
“These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,”
replied Sir Francis; “but we have no power over these savage
territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district
north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant murders and
pillage.”

“The poor wretch!” exclaimed Passepartout, “to be burned

alive!”

“Yes,” returned Sir Francis, “burned alive. And if she were not,
you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to
submit to from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed
her on a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt; she
would be looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die in
some corner, like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an
existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much
more than love or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the
sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires the active
interference of the Government to prevent it. Several years ago,
when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission
of the governor to be burned along with her husband’s body;
but, as you may imagine, he refused. The woman left the town,
took refuge with an independent rajah, and there carried out
her self-devoted purpose.”

While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head
several times, and now said, “The sacrifice which will take place
to-morrow at dawn is not a voluntary one.”

92
“How do you know?”

“Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund.” “But the

wretched creature did not seem to be making

any resistance,” observed Sir Francis.

“That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of

hemp and opium.”

“But where are they taking her?”

“To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the
night there.”

“And the sacrifice will take place—” “To-morrow, at the first light
of dawn.”

The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped
upon his neck. Just at the moment that he was about

to urge Kiouni forward with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped

him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said, “Suppose we
save this woman.”

“Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!”

“I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that.”

“Why, you are a man of heart!”

“Sometimes,” replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; “when I have the

time.”

93
C H A P T E R XIII

In which Passepartout receives a new proof that fortune

favours the brave

HE project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps

impracticable. Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty,
and therefore the success of his tour. But

he did not hesitate, and he found in Sir Francis Cromarty an

enthusiastic ally.

As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be

proposed. His master’s idea charmed him; he perceived a heart,
a soul, under that icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.

There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would

he not take part with the Indians? In default of his assistance, it
was necessary to be assured of his neutrality.

Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.

“Officer,” replied the guide, “I am a Parsee, and this woman is a

Parsee. Command me as you will.”

“Excellent!” said Mr. Fogg.

“However,” resumed the guide, “it is certain, not only that we

shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken.”

94
“That is foreseen,” replied Mr. Fogg. “I think we must wait till
night before acting.”

“I think so,” said the guide.

The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who,
he said, was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the
daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received a
thoroughly English education in that city, and, from her manners
and intelligence, would be thought an European. Her name was
Aouda. Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the
old rajah of Bundelcund; and, knowing the fate that awaited
her, she escaped, was retaken, and devoted by the rajah’s
relatives, who had an interest in her death, to the sacrifice from
which it seemed she could not escape.

The Parsee’s narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his

companions in their generous design. It was decided that the
guide should direct the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji,
which he accordingly approached as quickly as possible. They
halted, half an hour afterwards, in a copse some five hundred
feet from the pagoda, where they were well concealed; but they
could hear the groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.

Then they discussed the means of getting at the victim. The

guide was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he
declared, the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter

95
any of its doors while the whole party of Indians was plunged in
a drunken sleep, or was it safer to attempt to make a hole in the
walls? This could only be determined at the moment and the
place themselves; but it was certain that the abduction must be
made that night, and not when, at break of day, the victim was
led to her funeral pyre. Then no human intervention could save
her.

As soon as night fell, about six o’clock, they decided to make a

reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were
just ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves
into the drunkenness caused by liquid

opium mingled with hemp, and it might be possible to slip

between them to the temple itself.

The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the

wood, and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks
of a small stream, whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they
perceived a pyre of wood, on the top of which lay the
embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be burned with his
wife. The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees in
the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.

“Come!” whispered the guide.

96
He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush,
followed by his companions; the silence around was only broken
by the low murmuring of the wind among the branches.

Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which

was lit up by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of
the Indians, motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a
battlefield strewn with the dead. Men, women, and children lay
together.

In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji

loomed indistinctly. Much to the guide’s disappointment, the
guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching at the
doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres; probably the
priests, too, were watching within.

The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force an

entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his
companions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty
also saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction. They
stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy. “It is only eight
now,” said the brigadier, “and these

guards may also go to sleep.”

“It is not impossible,” returned the Parsee. They lay down at the
foot of a tree, and waited.

97
The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them to
take an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards
watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light
crept through the windows of the pagoda.

They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the
guards, and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep
could not be counted on. The other plan must be carried out; an
opening in the walls of the pagoda must be made. It remained
to ascertain whether the priests were watching by the side of
their victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.

After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was

ready for the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others.
They took a roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the
rear. They reached the walls about half-past twelve, without
having met any one; here there was no guard, nor were there
either windows or doors.

The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the
horizon, and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the
trees deepened the darkness.

It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must

be accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had
their pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brick
and wood, which could be penetrated with little difficulty; after
one brick had been taken out, the rest would yield easily.

98
They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and
Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks, so as to
make an aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly,
when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple,
followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the
outside. Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been
heard? Was the alarm being given? Common prudence urged
them to retire, and they did so, followed by

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid themselves in the
wood, and waited till the disturbance, whatever it might be,
ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attempt
without delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards now
appeared at the rear of the temple, and there installed
themselves, in readiness to prevent a surprise.

It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the

party, thus interrupted in their work. They could not now reach
the victim; how, then, could they save her? Sir Francis shook his
fists, Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed
his teeth with rage. The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying
any emotion.

“We have nothing to do but to go away,” whispered Sir Francis.

“Nothing but to go away,” echoed the guide.

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“Stop,” said Fogg. “I am only due at Allahabad to- morrow
before noon.”

“But what can you hope to do?” asked Sir Francis. “In a few
hours it will be daylight, and—”

“The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last
moment.”

Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg’s eyes. What
was this cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning to make
a rush for the young woman at the very moment of the
sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her

executioners?

This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg
was such a fool. Sir Francis consented, however, to remain to
the end of this terrible drama. The guide led them to the rear of
the glade, where they were able to observe the sleeping groups.

Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower

branches of a tree, was resolving an idea which

had at first struck him like a flash, and which was now firmly
lodged in his brain.

He had commenced by saying to himself, “What folly!” and then

he repeated, “Why not, after all? It’s a chance,— perhaps the

100
only one; and with such sots!” Thinking thus, he slipped, with the
suppleness of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of
which bent almost to the ground.

The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the
approach of day, though it was not yet light. This was the
moment. The slumbering multitude became animated, the
tambourines sounded, songs and cries arose; the hour of the
sacrifice had come. The doors of the pagoda swung open, and
a bright light escaped from its interior, in the midst of which Mr.
Fogg and Sir Francis espied the victim. She seemed, having
shaken off the stupor of intoxication, to be striving to escape
from her executioner. Sir Francis’ heart throbbed; and
convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg’s hand, found in it an open knife.
Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young
woman had again fallen into a stupor, caused by the fumes of
hemp, and passed among the fakirs, who escorted her with their
wild, religious cries.

Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of

the crowd, followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks
of the stream, and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon
which still lay the rajah’s corpse. In the semi- obscurity they saw
the victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside her husband’s
body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood, soaked with oil,
instantly took fire.

At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg,
who, in an instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon

101
the pyre. But he had quickly pushed them aside, when the whole
scene suddenly changed. A cry of terror

arose. The whole multitude prostrated themselves, terror-

stricken, on the ground.

The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like
a spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the
pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only heightened
his ghostly appearance.

Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay
there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes
and behold such a prodigy.

The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms

which supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to
burden. Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed
his head, and Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less
stupefied.

The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr.

Fogg, and, in an abrupt tone, said, “Let us be off!”

It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in

the midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still overhanging
darkness, had delivered the young woman from death! It was

102
Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy audacity, had
passed through the crowd amid the general terror.

A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the

woods, and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid
pace. But the cries and noise, and a ball which whizzed through
Phileas Fogg’s hat, apprised them that the trick had been
discovered.

The old rajah’s body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning
pyre; and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that
an abduction had taken place. They hastened into the forest,
followed by the soldiers, who fired a volley after the fugitives;
but the latter rapidly increased the distance between them, and
ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and
arrows.

103
C H A P T E R XIV

In which Phileas Fogg descends the whole length of the

beautiful valley of the Ganges without

ever thinking of seeing it

HE rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour

Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed
the worthy fellow’s hand, and his master said, “Well done!”
which, from him, was high commendation; to which
Passepartout replied that all the credit of the affair belonged to
Mr. Fogg. As for him, he had only been struck with a “queer”
idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments he,
Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex- sergeant fireman, had been
the spouse of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed
rajah! As for the young Indian woman, she had been
unconscious throughout of what was passing, and now,
wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was

reposing in one of the howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was

advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an
hour after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They
made a halt at seven o’clock, the young woman being still in a

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state of complete prostration. The guide made her drink a little
brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her could
not yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with the
effects of the intoxication produced by the fumes of hemp,
reassured his

companions on her account. But he was more disturbed at the

prospect of her future fate. He told Phileas Fogg that, should
Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall again into the
hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered
throughout the country, and would, despite the English police,
recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would
only be safe by quitting India for ever.

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o’clock, and

the interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable
them to reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas
Fogg would thus be able to arrive in time to take the steamer
which left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for
Hong Kong.

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting- rooms of

the station, whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing
for her various articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs;
for which his master gave him unlimited credit. Passepartout

105
started off forthwith, and found himself in the streets of
Allahabad, that is, the “City of God,” one of the most venerated
in India, being built at the junction of the two sacred rivers,
Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract pilgrims from
every part of the peninsula. The Ganges, according to the
legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to
Brahma’s agency, it descends to the earth.

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to

take a good look at the city. It was formerly defended by a
noble fort, which has since become a state prison; its commerce
has dwindled away, and Passepartout in vain looked about him
for such a bazaar as he used to frequent in Regent Street. At
last he came upon an elderly, crusty Jew, who sold second-hand
articles, and from whom he purchased

a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin

pelisse, for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five
pounds. He then returned triumphantly to the station.

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda

began gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that
her fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression.

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the

queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:—

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“Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the
harmonious contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in
their glow and freshness. Her ebony brows have the form and
charm of the bow of Kama, the god of love, and beneath her
long silken lashes the purest reflections and a celestial light
swim, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya, in the black pupils of
her great clear eyes. Her teeth, fine, equal, and white, glitter
between her smiling lips like dewdrops in a passion-flower’s
half-enveloped breast. Her delicately formed ears, her vermilion
hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the lotus-bud, glitter
with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon, the most
dazzling diamonds of Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist,
which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her
rounded figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its
flower displays the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the
silken folds of her tunic she seems to have been modelled in
pure silver by the godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal
sculptor.”

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to

Aouda, that she was a charming woman, in all the European
acceptation of the phrase. She spoke English with great purity,
and the guide had not exaggerated in saying that the young
Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up.

107
The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg
proceeded to pay the guide the price agreed upon for his
service, and not a farthing more; which astonished
Passepartout, who remembered all that his master owed to the
guide’s devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure
at Pillaji, and if he should be caught afterwards by the Indians,
he would with difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also,
must be disposed of. What should be done with the elephant,
which had been so dearly purchased? Phileas Fogg had already
determined this question.

“Parsee,” said he to the guide, “you have been serviceable and

devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.
Would you like to have this elephant? He is yours.”

The guide’s eyes glistened.

“Your honour is giving me a fortune!” cried he.

“Take him, guide,” returned Mr. Fogg, “and I shall still be your
debtor.”

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout; “take him, friend. Kiouni is a

brave and faithful beast.” And, going up to the elephant, he
gave him several lumps of sugar, saying, “Here, Kiouni, here,
here.”

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping

Passepartout around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high
as his head. Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed
the animal, which replaced him gently on the ground.

108
Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and
Passepartout, installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the
best seat, were whirling at full speed towards Benares. It was a
run of eighty miles, and was accomplished in two hours. During
the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses. What
was her astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on the
railway, dressed in European habiliments,

and with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Her

companions first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor,
and then Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed, dwelling
upon the courage with which Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to
risk his life to save her, and recounting the happy sequel of the
venture, the result of Passepartout’s rash idea. Mr. Fogg said
nothing; while Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that “it
wasn’t worth telling.”

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears

than words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than
her lips. Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the
sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she
shuddered with terror.

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda’s mind,

and offered, in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong
Kong, where she might remain safely until the affair was hushed

109
up—an offer which she eagerly and gratefully accepted. She
had, it seems, a Parsee relation, who was one of the principal
merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though
on an island on the Chinese coast.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin

legends assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient
Casi, which, like Mahomet’s tomb, was once suspended between
heaven and earth; though the Benares of to-day, which the
Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically
on the solid earth. Passepartout caught glimpses of its brick
houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the
place, as the train entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty’s destination, the troops he

was rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the
city. He bade adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success,
and expressing the hope that he would come that way again in
a less original but more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly
pressed him by the hand. The parting of

Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to Sir Francis,
betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he received a
hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general.

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the

valley of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the

110
travellers had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar,
with its mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley, wheat,
and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators, its neat
villages, and its still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants were
bathing in the waters of the sacred river, and groups of Indians,
despite the advanced season and chilly air, were performing
solemnly their pious ablutions. These were fervent Brahmins, the
bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being Vishnu, the solar
god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural forces, and
Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators. What
would these divinities think of India, anglicized as it is to-day,
with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges,
frightening the gulls which float upon its surface, the turtles
swarming along its banks, and the faithful dwelling upon its
borders?

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when
the steam concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-
westward from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of
Behar; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories; or the
tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges;
the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and
trading-place, where is held the principal opium market of
India; or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is as
English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries,

111
edge-tool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds of black
smoke heavenward.

Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of
the roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before
the locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda, ruined
Gour, Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and
the French town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would
have been proud to see his country’s flag flying, were hidden
from their view in the darkness.

Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet

left for Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours
before him.

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of

October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He
was therefore neither behindhand nor ahead of time. The two
days gained between London and Bombay had been lost, as
has been seen, in the journey across India. But it is not to be
supposed that Phileas Fogg regretted them.

112
C H A P T E R XV

In which the bag of bank-notes disgorges some thousands of

pounds more

HE train entered the station, and Passepartout, jumping out

first, was followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion
to descend. Phileas Fogg intended to

proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer, in order to get

Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage. He was unwilling to
leave her while they were still on dangerous ground.

Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him,

and said, “Mr. Phileas Fogg?”

“I am he.”

“Is this man your servant?” added the policeman, pointing to

Passepartout.

“Yes.”

“Be so good, both of you, as to follow me.”

Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever. The policeman was a

representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.
Passepartout tried to reason about the matter, but the

113
policeman tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him a
signal to obey.

“May this young lady go with us?” asked he. “She may,” replied
the policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palki-

ghari, a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in
which they took their places and were driven

away. No one spoke during the twenty minutes which elapsed

before they reached their destination. They first passed through
the “black town,” with its narrow streets, its miserable, dirty
huts, and squalid population; then through the “European town,”
which presented a relief in its bright brick mansions, shaded by
cocoanut-trees and bristling with masts, where, although it was
early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and handsome
equipages were passing back and forth.

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which,

however, did not have the appearance of a private mansion.
The policeman having requested his prisoners—for so, truly,
they might be called—to descend, conducted them into a room
with barred windows, and said, “You will appear before Judge
Obadiah at half-past eight.”

He then retired, and closed the door.

114
“Why, we are prisoners!” exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a
chair.

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg,

“Sir, you must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that you
receive this treatment; it is for having saved me!”

Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was

impossible. It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for
preventing a suttee. The complainants would not dare present
themselves with such a charge. There was some mistake.
Moreover, he would not in any event abandon Aouda, but would
escort her to Hong Kong.

“But the steamer leaves at noon!” observed Passepartout,

nervously.

“We shall be on board by noon,” replied his master, placidly.

It was said so positively, that Passepartout could not help

muttering to himself, “Parbleu, that’s certain! Before

noon we shall be on board.” But he was by no means reassured.

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared,

and, requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining
hall. It was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans
and natives already occupied the rear of the apartment.

115
Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench
opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately
after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by the clerk,
entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which was hanging
on a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.

“The first case,” said he; then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, “Heh! This is not my wig!”

“No, your worship,” returned the clerk, “it is mine.” “My dear Mr.
Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise

sentence in a clerk’s wig?”

The wigs were exchanged.

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of

the big clock over the judge seemed to go round with terrible
rapidity.

“The first case,” repeated Judge Obadiah. “Phileas Fogg?”

demanded Oysterpuff. “I am here,” replied Mr. Fogg.
“Passepartout?”

“Present!” responded Passepartout.

“Good,” said the judge. “You have been looked for, prisoners,
for two days on the trains from Bombay.”

“But of what are we accused?” asked Passepartout, impatiently.

“You are about to be informed.”

116
“I am an English subject, sir,” said Mr. Fogg, “and I have the
right—”

“Have you been ill-treated?”

“Not at all.”

“Very well; let the complainants come in.”

A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian
priests entered.

“That’s it,” muttered Passepartout; “these are the rogues who

were going to burn our young lady.”

The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk
proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege
against Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of
having violated a place held consecrated by the Brahmin
religion.

“You hear the charge?” asked the judge.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, “and I admit
it.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn,
what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji.”

117
The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to
understand what was said.

“Yes,” cried Passepartout, warmly; “at the pagoda of Pillaji,

where they were on the point of burning their victim.”

The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were

stupefied.

“What victim?” said Judge Obadiah. “Burn whom? In Bombay

itself?”

“Bombay?” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the

pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay.”

“And as a proof,” added the clerk, “here are the desecrator’s

very shoes, which he left behind him.”

Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.

“My shoes!” cried Passepartout, in his surprise

permitting this imprudent exclamation to escape him.

The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the
affair at Bombay, for which they were now detained at
Calcutta, may be imagined.

Fix, the detective, had foreseen the advantage which

Passepartout’s escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure

118
for twelve hours, had consulted the priests of Malabar Hill.
Knowing that the English authorities dealt very severely with
this kind of misdemeanour, he promised them a goodly sum in
damages, and sent them forward to Calcutta by the next train.
Owing to the delay caused by the rescue of the young widow,
Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital before Mr. Fogg
and his servant, the magistrates having been already warned
by a despatch to arrest them, should they arrive. Fix’s
disappointment when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not
made his appearance in Calcutta, may be imagined. He made
up his mind that the robber had stopped somewhere on the
route and taken refuge in the southern provinces. For twenty-
four hours Fix watched the station with feverish anxiety; at last
he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout arrive,
accompanied by a young woman, whose presence he was
wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for a policeman; and
this was how the party came to be arrested and brought before
Judge Obadiah.

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have

espied the detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room,
watching the proceedings with an interest easily understood; for
the warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta, as it had done
at Bombay and Suez.

Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout’s rash

exclamation, which the poor fellow would have given the world
to recall.

119
“The facts are admitted?” asked the judge. “Admitted,” replied
Mr. Fogg, coldly.

“Inasmuch,” resumed the judge, “as the English law protects

equally and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the
man Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred
pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I
condemn the said Passepartout to imprisonment for fifteen
days and a fine of three hundred pounds.”

“Three hundred pounds!” cried Passepartout, startled at the

largeness of the sum.

“Silence!” shouted the constable.

“And inasmuch,” continued the judge, “as it is not proved that

the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the
servant, and as the master in any case must be held responsible
for the acts of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a
week’s imprisonment and a fine of one hundred and fifty
pounds.”

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg

could be detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than
time for the warrant to arrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This
sentence ruined his master. A wager of twenty thousand pounds

120
lost, because he, like a precious fool, had gone into that
abominable pagoda!

Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the

least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was
being pronounced. Just as the clerk was calling the next case,
he rose, and said, “I offer bail.”

“You have that right,” returned the judge.

Fix’s blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he

heard the judge announce that the bail required for each
prisoner would be one thousand pounds.

“I will pay it at once,” said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills

from the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and
placing them on the clerk’s desk.

“This sum will be restored to you upon your release from

prison,” said the judge. “Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail.”

“Come!” said Phileas Fogg to his servant.

“But let them at least give me back my shoes!” cried

Passepartout, angrily.

“Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!” he muttered, as they were

handed to him. “More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides,
they pinch my feet.”

121
Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by
the crestfallen Passepartout. Fix still nourished hopes that the
robber would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds
behind him, but would decide to serve out his week in jail, and
issued forth on Mr. Fogg’s traces. That gentleman took a
carriage, and the party were soon landed on one of the quays.

The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its
signal of departure hoisted at the mast-head. Eleven o’clock
was striking; Mr. Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw
them leave the carriage and push off in a boat for the steamer,
and stamped his feet with disappointment.

“The rascal is off, after all!” he exclaimed. “Two thousand

pounds sacrificed! He’s as prodigal as a thief! I’ll follow him to
the end of the world if necessary; but at the rate he is going on,
the stolen money will soon be exhausted.”

The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture. Since
leaving London, what with travelling- expenses, bribes, the
purchase of the elephant, bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg had already
spent more than five thousand pounds on the way, and the
percentage of the sum recovered from the bank robber,
promised to the detectives, was rapidly diminishing.

122
C H A P T E R XVI

In which Fix does not seem to understand in the least what is

said to him

HE Rangoon—one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s

boats plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas—was a screw
steamer, built of iron, weighing

about seventeen hundred and seventy tons, and with engines of

four hundred horse-power. She was as fast, but not as well
fitted up, as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as comfortably
provided for on board of her as Phileas Fogg could have
wished. However, the trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only
comprised some three thousand five hundred miles, occupying
from ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not difficult
to please.

During the first days of the journey Aouda became better

acquainted with her protector, and constantly gave evidence of
her deep gratitude for what he had done. The phlegmatic
gentleman listened to her, apparently at least, with coldness,
neither his voice nor his manner betraying the slightest emotion;
but he seemed to be always on the watch that nothing should
be wanting to Aouda’s comfort. He visited her regularly each

123
day at certain hours, not so much to talk himself as to sit and
hear her talk. He treated her with the strictest politeness, but
with the precision of an automaton, the movements of which
had been arranged for this purpose. Aouda did not quite know
what to make of him,

though Passepartout had given her some hints of his master’s

eccentricity, and made her smile by telling her of the wager
which was sending him round the world. After all, she owed
Phileas Fogg her life, and she always regarded him through the
exalting medium of her gratitude.

Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide’s narrative of her touching

history. She did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native
races of India. Many of the Parsee merchants have made great
fortunes there by dealing in cotton; and one of them, Sir
Jametsee Jeejeebhoy, was made a baronet by the English
government. Aouda was a relative of this great man, and it was
his cousin, Jejeeh, whom she hoped to join at Hong Kong.
Whether she would find a protector in him she could not tell; but
Mr. Fogg essayed to calm her anxieties, and to assure her that
everything would be mathematically— he used the very word—
arranged. Aouda fastened her great eyes, “clear as the sacred
lakes of the Himalaya,” upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as

124
reserved as ever, did not seem at all inclined to throw himself
into this lake.

The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid

favourable weather and propitious winds, and they soon came
in sight of the great Andaman, the principal of the islands in the
Bay of Bengal, with its picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand
four hundred feet high, looming above the waters. The steamer
passed along near the shores, but the savage Papuans, who are
in the lowest scale of humanity, but are not, as has been
asserted, cannibals, did not make their appearance.

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was

superb. Vast forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the
gigantic mimosa, and tree-like ferns covered the foreground,
while behind, the graceful outlines of the mountains were traced
against the sky; and along the coasts swarmed by thousands
the precious swallows whose nests

furnish a luxurious dish to the tables of the Celestial Empire. The

varied landscape afforded by the Andaman Islands was soon
passed, however, and the Rangoon rapidly approached the
Straits of Malacca, which gave access to the China seas.

What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to

country, doing all this while? He had managed to embark on the
Rangoon at Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after

125
leaving orders that, if the warrant should arrive, it should be
forwarded to him at Hong Kong; and he hoped to conceal his
presence to the end of the voyage. It would have been difficult
to explain why he was on board without awaking
Passepartout’s suspicions, who thought him still at Bombay. But
necessity impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance
with the worthy servant, as will be seen.

All the detective’s hopes and wishes were now centered on

Hong Kong; for the steamer’s stay at Singapore would be too
brief to enable him to take any steps there. The arrest must be
made at Hong Kong, or the robber would probably escape him
for ever. Hong Kong was the last English ground on which he
would set foot; beyond, China, Japan, America offered to Fogg
an almost certain refuge. If the warrant should at last make its
appearance at Hong Kong, Fix could arrest him and give him
into the hands of the local police, and there would be no further
trouble. But beyond Hong Kong, a simple warrant would be of
no avail; an extradition warrant would be necessary, and that
would result in delays and obstacles, of which the rascal would
take advantage to elude justice.

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which
he spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, “Now,
either the warrant will be at Hong Kong, in which case I shall
arrest my man, or it will not be there; and this time it is
absolutely necessary that I should delay his

126
departure. I have failed at Bombay, and I have failed at
Calcutta; if I fail at Hong Kong, my reputation is lost. Cost what
it may, I must succeed! But how shall I prevent his departure, if
that should turn out to be my last resource?”

Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would

make a confidant of Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a
fellow his master really was. That Passepartout was not Fogg’s
accomplice, he was very certain. The servant, enlightened by his
disclosure, and afraid of being himself implicated in the crime,
would doubtless become an ally of the detective. But this
method was a dangerous one, only to be employed when
everything else had failed. A word from Passepartout to his
master would ruin all. The detective was therefore in a sore
strait. But suddenly a new idea struck him. The presence of
Aouda on the Rangoon, in company with Phileas Fogg, gave
him new material for reflection.

Who was this woman? What combination of events had made

her Fogg’s travelling companion? They had evidently met
somewhere between Bombay and Calcutta; but where? Had
they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone into the interior
purposely in quest of this charming damsel? Fix was fairly
puzzled. He asked himself whether there had not been a wicked
elopement; and this idea so impressed itself upon his mind that
he determined to make use of the supposed intrigue. Whether
the young woman were married or not, he would be able to

127
create such difficulties for Mr. Fogg at Hong Kong, that he
could not escape by paying any amount of money.

But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong? Fogg had
an abominable way of jumping from one boat to another, and,
before anything could be effected, might get full under way
again for Yokohama.

Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and

signal the Rangoon before her arrival. This was easy to

do, since the steamer stopped at Singapore, whence there is a

telegraphic wire to Hong Kong. He finally resolved, moreover,
before acting more positively, to question Passepartout. It
would not be difficult to make him talk; and, as there was no
time to lose, Fix prepared to make himself known.

It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the
Rangoon was due at Singapore.

Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout

was promenading up and down in the forward part of the
steamer. The detective rushed forward with every appearance
of extreme surprise, and exclaimed, “You here, on the
Rangoon?”

“What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?” returned the really

astonished Passepartout, recognizing his crony of the Mongolia.

128
“Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to
Hong Kong! Are you going round the world too?” “No, no,”
replied Fix; “I shall stop at Hong Kong—at

least for some days.”

“Hum!” said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant

perplexed. “But how is it I have not seen you on board since we
left Calcutta?”

“Oh, a trifle of seasickness,—I’ve been staying in my berth. The

Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian
Ocean. And how is Mr. Fogg?”

“As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But,
Monsieur Fix, you don’t know that we have a young lady with
us.”

“A young lady?” replied the detective, not seeming to

comprehend what was said.

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda’s history, the affair at

the Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two
thousand pounds, the rescue, the arrest and sentence of the
Calcutta court, and the restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to
liberty on bail. Fix, who was familiar with the last

129
events, seemed to be equally ignorant of all that Passepartout
related; and the latter was charmed to find so interested a
listener.

“But does your master propose to carry this young woman to

Europe?”

“Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the

protection of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong
Kong.”

“Nothing to be done there,” said Fix to himself, concealing his

disappointment. “A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?”

“Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass

on board the Rangoon.”

130
C H A P T E R XVII

Showing what happened on the voyage from Singapore to

Hong Kong

HE detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this

interview, though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to
induce his companion to divulge any more

facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He caught a glimpse of that

mysterious gentleman once or twice; but Mr. Fogg usually
confined himself to the cabin, where he kept Aouda company,
or, according to his inveterate habit, took a hand at whist.

Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange

chance kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing.
It was really worth considering why this certainly very amiable
and complacent person, whom he had first met at Suez, had
then encountered on board the Mongolia, who disembarked at
Bombay, which he announced as his destination, and now
turned up so unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was following Mr.
Fogg’s tracks step by step. What was Fix’s object? Passepartout
was ready to wager his Indian shoes—which he religiously
preserved—that Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same
time with them, and probably on the same steamer.

131
Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century
without hitting upon the real object which the detective had in
view. He never could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was
being tracked as a robber around the globe.

But as it is in human nature to attempt the solution of every

mystery, Passepartout suddenly discovered an explanation of
Fix’s movements, which was in truth far from unreasonable. Fix,
he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg’s friends at the
Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain that he
really went round the world as had been agreed upon. “It’s
clear!” repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of his
shrewdness. “He’s a spy sent to keep us in view! That isn’t quite
the thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable a
man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this

shall cost you dear!”

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say

nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this
mistrust on the part of his adversaries. But he determined to
chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions,
which, however, need not betray his real suspicions. During the
afternoon of Wednesday, October 30th, the Rangoon entered
the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of that
name from Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets

132
intercepted the beauties of this noble island from the view of
the travellers. The Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the
next day at four a.m., to receive coal, having gained half a day
on the prescribed time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this
gain in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who
betrayed a desire for a walk on

shore, disembarked.

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg’s every movement, followed them

cautiously, without being himself perceived; while Passepartout,
laughing in his sleeve at Fix’s manoeuvres, went about his usual
errands.

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are

no mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions. It is
a park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues. A
handsome carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of New

Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst
of rows of palms with brilliant foliage, and of clove- trees
whereof the cloves form the heart of a half-open flower. Pepper
plants replaced the prickly hedges of European fields; sago-
bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect
of this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the
air with a penetrating perfume. Agile and grinning bands of

133
monkeys skipped about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in
the jungles.

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr.
Fogg returned to the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-
looking, irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens rich
in tropical fruits and plants; and at ten o’clock they re-
embarked, closely followed by the detective, who had kept them
constantly in sight.

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen

mangoes—a fruit as large as good-sized apples, of a dark-
brown colour outside and a bright red within, and whose white
pulp, melting in the mouth, affords gourmands a delicious
sensation—was waiting for them on deck. He was only too glad
to offer some mangoes to Aouda, who thanked him very
gracefully for them.

At eleven o’clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbour,

and in a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their
forests, inhabited by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the
world, were lost to view. Singapore is distant some thirteen
hundred miles from the island of Hong Kong, which is a little
English colony near the Chinese coast. Phileas Fogg hoped to
accomplish the journey in six days, so as to be in time for the
steamer which would leave on the 5th 2 of November for
Yokohama, the principal Japanese port.

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2 Both Towle’s translation and Verne’s original have the 6th, but
the correct date is the 5th. The reason will be explained in the
next footnote.—J.M.

The Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom

disembarked at Singapore, among them a number of Indians,
Ceylonese, Chinamen, Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-
class travellers.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the
last quarter of the moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at
intervals rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the
south-west, and thus aided the steamer’s progress. The captain
as often as possible put up his sails, and under the double
action of steam and sail, the vessel made rapid progress along
the coasts of Anam and Cochin China. Owing to the defective
construction of the Rangoon, however, unusual precautions
became necessary in unfavourable weather; but the loss of time
which resulted from this cause, while it nearly drove
Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem to affect his
master in the least. Passepartout blamed the captain, the
engineer, and the crew, and consigned all who were connected
with the ship to the land where the pepper grows. Perhaps the
thought of the gas, which was remorselessly burning at his

135
expense in Saville Row, had something to do with his hot
impatience.

“You are in a great hurry, then,” said Fix to him one day, “to
reach Hong Kong?”

“A very great hurry!”

“Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for

Yokohama?”

“Terribly anxious.”

“You believe in this journey around the world, then?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you, Mr. Fix?”

“I? I don’t believe a word of it.”

“You’re a sly dog!” said Passepartout, winking at him.

This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.

Had the Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not
what to think. But how could Passepartout have

discovered that he was a detective? Yet, in speaking as he did,

the man evidently meant more than he expressed.

Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold
his tongue.

“Mr. Fix,” said he, in a bantering tone; “shall we be so

unfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?”

136
“Why,” responded Fix, a little embarrassed, “I don’t know;
perhaps—”

“Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular

Company, you know, can’t stop on the way! You were only
going to Bombay, and here you are in China. America is not far
off, and from America to Europe is only a step.”

Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was

as serene as possible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout
persisted in chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his
present occupation.

“Yes, and no,” returned Fix; “there is good and bad luck in such
things. But you must understand that I don’t travel at my own
expense.”

“Oh, I am quite sure of that!” cried Passepartout, laughing

heartily.

Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up

to his reflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow or
other the Frenchman had found out that he was a detective. But
had he told his master? What part was he playing in all this: was
he an accomplice or not? Was the game, then, up? Fix spent
several hours turning these things over in his mind, sometimes
thinking that all was lost, then persuading himself that Fogg
was ignorant of his presence, and then undecided what course
it was best to take.

137
Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last
resolved to deal plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it
practicable to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg

made preparations to leave that last foothold of English

territory, he, Fix, would tell Passepartout all. Either the servant
was the accomplice of his master, and in this case the master
knew of his operations, and he should fail; or else the servant
knew nothing about the robbery, and then his interest would be
to abandon the robber.

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout.

Meanwhile Phileas Fogg moved about above them in the most
majestic and unconscious indifference. He was passing
methodically in his orbit around the world, regardless of the
lesser stars which gravitated around him. Yet there was near by
what the astronomers would call a disturbing star, which might
have produced an agitation in this gentleman’s heart. But no!
the charms of Aouda failed to act, to Passepartout’s great
surprise; and the disturbances, if they existed, would have been
more difficult to calculate than those of Uranus which led to the
discovery of Neptune.

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who

read in Aouda’s eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master.
Phileas Fogg, though brave and gallant, must be, he thought,

138
quite heartless. As to the sentiment which this journey might
have awakened in him, there was clearly no trace of such a
thing; while poor Passepartout existed in perpetual reveries.

One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine- room, and
was observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer
threw the screw out of the water. The steam came hissing out of
the valves; and this made Passepartout indignant.

“The valves are not sufficiently charged!” he exclaimed. “We are

not going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we
should blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!”

139
C H A P T E R XVIII

In which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout, and Fix go each about his

business

HE weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The
wind, obstinately remaining in the north- west, blew a gale, and
retarded the steamer. The

Rangoon rolled heavily, and the passengers became impatient

of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before their
path. A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the
squall knocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves
running high. The Rangoon reefed all her sails, and even the
rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the squall.
The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain
estimated that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours
behind time, and more if the storm lasted.

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to

be struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual
tranquillity. He never changed countenance for an instant,
though a delay of twenty hours, by making him too late for the
Yokohama boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss of the
wager. But this man of nerve manifested neither impatience nor

140
annoyance; it seemed as if the storm were a part of his
programme, and had been foreseen. Aouda was amazed to find
him as calm as he had been from the first time she saw him.

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The
storm greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been
complete had the Rangoon been forced to retreat before the
violence of wind and waves. Each delay filled him with hope, for
it became more and more probable that Fogg would be obliged
to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the heavens
themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It
mattered not that they made him seasick—he made no account
of this inconvenience; and whilst his body was writhing under
their effects, his spirit bounded with hopeful exultation.

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the

unpropitious weather. Everything had gone so well till now!
Earth and sea had seemed to be at his master’s service;
steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam united to
speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come?
Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand
pounds were to come from his own pocket. The storm
exasperated him, the gale made him furious, and he longed to
lash the obstinate sea into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix carefully
concealed from him his own satisfaction, for, had he betrayed

141
it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained himself from
personal violence.

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted,

being unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head
to aid the progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew.
He overwhelmed the captain, officers, and sailors, who could
not help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of questions.
He wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to
last; whereupon he was referred to the barometer, which
seemed to have no intention of rising. Passepartout shook it,
but with no perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor
maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind.

On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm
lessened its violence; the wind veered southward, and was once
more favourable. Passepartout cleared up with the weather.
Some of the sails were unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its
most rapid speed. The time lost could not, however, be
regained. Land was not signalled until five o’clock on the
morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas
Fogg was twenty-four hours behindhand, and the Yokohama
steamer would of course be missed.

The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge,
to guide the Rangoon through the channels to the port of Hong

142
Kong. Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left
for Yokohama; but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the
spark of hope which still remained till the last moment. He had
confided his anxiety to Fix, who—the sly rascal!—tried to console
him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if he took the next
boat; but this only put Passepartout in a passion.

Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach
the pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer
would leave Hong Kong for Yokohama.

“At high tide to-morrow morning,” answered the pilot. “Ah!” said
Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.

Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have

embraced the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his
neck.

“What is the steamer’s name?” asked Mr. Fogg. “The Carnatic.”

“Ought she not to have gone yesterday?”3

“Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her
departure was postponed till to-morrow.”

3 As mentioned in the last footnote (page 104), the steamer

from Hong Kong to Yokohama was due to sail on the 5th. Here
Fogg arrived on the 6th, and the Carnatic ought to have gone
“yesterday.”—J.M.

143
“Thank you,” returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathe- matically to
the saloon.

Passepartout clasped the pilot’s hand and shook it heartily in

his delight, exclaiming, “Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!”

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses
won him this enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge,
and guided the steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas, and
fishing boats which crowd the harbour of Hong Kong.

At one o’clock the Rangoon was at the quay, and the

passengers were going ashore.

Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for, had not the
Carnatic been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, she
would have left on the 5th 4 of November, and the passengers
for Japan would have been obliged to await for a week the
sailing of the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four
hours behind his time; but this could not seriously imperil the
remainder of his tour.

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San

Francisco made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong,
and it could not sail until the latter reached Yokohama; and if
Mr. Fogg was twenty-four hours late on reaching Yokohama,
this time would no doubt be easily regained in the voyage of
twenty-two days across the Pacific. He found himself, then,

144
about twenty-four hours behindhand, thirty-five days after
leaving London.

The Carnatic was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the

next morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to
his business there, which was to deposit Aouda safely with her
wealthy relative.

4 Towle’s translation has the 6th, which is incorrect as explained

in the previous note. Verne’s original has the correct date, the
5th.—J.M.

On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they

repaired to the Club Hotel. A room was engaged for the young
woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing,
set out in search of her cousin Jejeeh. He instructed
Passepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda
might not be left entirely alone.

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt,

every one would know so wealthy and considerable a
personage as the Parsee merchant. Meeting a broker, he made
the inquiry, to learn that Jejeeh had left China two years before,
and, retiring from business with an immense fortune, had taken

145
up his residence in Europe—in Holland, the broker thought, with
the merchants of which country he had principally traded.
Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel, begged a moment’s
conversation with Aouda, and, without more ado, apprised her
that Jejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in
Holland.

Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her
forehead, and reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft
voice, she said, “What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?”

“It is very simple,” responded the gentleman. “Go on to Europe.”

“But I cannot intrude—”

“You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my

project. Passepartout!”

“Monsieur.”

“Go to the Carnatic, and engage three cabins.”

Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very

gracious to him, was going to continue the journey with them,
went off at a brisk gait to obey his master’s order.

146
C H A P T E R XIX

In which Passepartout takes a too great interest in his master,

and what comes of it

ONG KONG is an island which came into the possession of the

English by the treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the
colonizing genius of

the English has created upon it an important city and an

excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton
River, and is separated by about sixty miles from the
Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong
has beaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and
now the greater part of the transportation of Chinese goods
finds its depôt at the former place. Docks, hospitals, wharves, a
Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamized streets
give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey
transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards

the Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins
and other modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese,
Japanese, and Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets.
Hong Kong seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and

147
Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence
of English supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused
mass of ships of all nations, English, French, American, and
Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and Chinese
junks, sempas,

tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so many floating

parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the
natives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On
going into a barber’s to get shaved, he learned that these
ancient men were all at least eighty years old, at which age they
are permitted to wear yellow, which is the Imperial colour.
Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought this very
funny.

On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the

Carnatic, he was not astonished to find Fix walking up and
down. The detective seemed very much disturbed and
disappointed.

“This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen of the

Reform Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had
not perceived that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had,
indeed, good reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which
pursued him. The warrant had not come! It was certainly on the
way, but as certainly it could not now reach Hong Kong for

148
several days; and this being the last English territory on Mr.
Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage
to detain him.

“Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided to

go on with us as far as America?”

“Yes,” returned Fix, through his set teeth.

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. “I knew you

could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and
engage your berth.”

They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four
persons. The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them
that, the repairs on the Carnatic having been completed, the
steamer would leave that very evening, and not next morning,
as had been announced.

“That will suit my master all the better,” said Passepartout. “I

will go and let him know.”

Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell

Passepartout all. It seemed to be the only possible means of
keeping Phileas Fogg several days longer at Hong Kong. He
accordingly invited his companion into a tavern which caught
his eye on the quay. On entering, they found themselves in a
large room handsomely decorated, at the end of which was a

149
large camp-bed furnished with cushions. Several persons lay
upon this bed in a deep sleep. At the small tables which were
arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinking
English beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long
red clay pipes stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with
essence of rose. From time to time one of the smokers,
overcome with the narcotic, would slip under the table,
whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and feet, carried
and laid him upon the bed. The bed already supported twenty
of these stupefied sots.

Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking- house

haunted by those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures, to
whom the English merchants sell every year the miserable drug
called opium, to the amount of one million four hundred
thousand pounds—thousands devoted to one of the most
despicable vices which afflict humanity! The Chinese
government has in vain attempted to deal with the evil by
stringent laws. It passed gradually from the rich, to whom it was
at first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then its
ravages could not be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere, at
all times, by men and women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once
accustomed to it, the victims cannot dispense with it, except by
suffering horrible bodily contortions and agonies. A great
smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day; but he dies in
five years. It was in one of these dens that Fix and

150
Passepartout, in search of a friendly glass, found themselves.
Passepartout had no money,

but willingly accepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning

the obligation at some future time.

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did

ample justice, whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They
chatted about the journey, and Passepartout was especially
merry at the idea that Fix was going to continue it with them.
When the bottles were empty, however, he rose to go and tell
his master of the change in the time of the sailing of the
Carnatic.

Fix caught him by the arm, and said, “Wait a moment.” “What
for, Mr. Fix?”

“I want to have a serious talk with you.”

“A serious talk!” cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine

that was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk about it
to-morrow; I haven’t time now.”

“Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.”

Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s

face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his
seat.

151
“What is it that you have to say?”

Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout’s arm and, lowering his
voice, said, “You have guessed who I am?”

“Parbleu!” said Passepartout, smiling. “Then I’m going to tell

you everything—”

“Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that’s very good.

But go on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those
gentlemen have put themselves to a useless expense.”

“Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clear that you
don’t know how large the sum is.”

“Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousand

pounds.”

“Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’s

hand.

“What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg dared—fifty-

five thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason for not
losing an instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-

five thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand
pounds. If you’ll help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.”

152
“Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide
open.

“Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.”

“Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied
with following my master and suspecting his honour, but they
must try to put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as

well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!”

“That’s just what we count on doing.”

“It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became more

and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he
drank without perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen,
too. Bah!”

Fix began to be puzzled.

“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You

must know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and
that, when he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!”

“But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently.

“Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out

here to interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I

153
found you out some time ago, I’ve taken good care to say
nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.”

“He knows nothing, then?”

“Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.

The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating

before he spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout’s
mistake seemed sincere, but it made his design more difficult. It
was evident that the servant was not the master’s accomplice,
as Fix had been inclined to suspect. “Well,” said the detective to
himself, “as he is not an

accomplice, he will help me.”

He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong,

so he resolved to make a clean breast of it.

“Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think, an

agent of the members of the Reform Club—”

“Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.

“I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.”

“You, a detective?”

“I will prove it. Here is my commission.”

Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix

displayed this document, the genuineness of which could not be
doubted.

154
“Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of which you
and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive
for securing your innocent complicity.”

“But why?”

“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five

thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a
person whose description was fortunately secured. Here is this
description; it answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg.”

“What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his

fist. “My master is the most honourable of men!”

“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You
went into his service the day he came away; and he came away
on a foolish pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large
amount in bank-notes. And yet you are bold enough to assert
that he is an honest man!”

“Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically. “Would you

like to be arrested as his accomplice?”

Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head

between his hands, and did not dare to look at the detective.
Phileas Fogg, the saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous
man, a robber! And yet how many presumptions there were
against him! Passepartout essayed to reject the suspicions

155
which forced themselves upon his mind; he did not wish to
believe that his master was guilty.

“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.

“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place,
but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for
which I sent to London. You must help me to keep him here in
Hong Kong—”

“I! But I—”

“I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered
by the Bank of England.”

“Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,

exhausted in mind and body.

“Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be true—if

my master is really the robber you are seeking for— which I
deny—I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity
and goodness; and I will never betray him— not for all the gold
in the world. I come from a village where they don’t eat that
kind of bread!”

“You refuse?”

“I refuse.”

“Consider that I’ve said nothing,” said Fix; “and let us drink.”

156
“Yes; let us drink!”

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects

of the liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be
separated from his master, wished to entirely overcome him.
Some pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fix slipped one into
Passepartout’s hand. He took it, put it between his lips, lit it,
drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under the
influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table.

“At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr. Fogg

will not be informed of the Carnatic’s departure; and, if he is, he
will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!”

And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.

157
C H A P T E R XX

In which Fix comes face to face with Phileas Fogg

HILE these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,

unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was
quietly escorting Aouda

about the streets of the English quarter, making the necessary

purchases for the long voyage before them. It was all very well
for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world
with a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel
comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his task with
characteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the
remonstrances of his fair companion, who was confused by his
patience and generosity,—

“It is in the interest of my journey—a part of my programme.”

The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they

dined at a sumptuously served table-d’hôte; after which Aouda,
shaking hands with her protector after the English fashion,
retired to her room for rest. Mr. Fogg absorbed himself
throughout the evening in the perusal of the Times and
Illustrated London News.

158
Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would
have been not to see his servant return at bed-time. But,
knowing that the steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until
the next morning, he did not disturb himself about the matter.
When Passepartout did not appear the next

morning, to answer his master’s bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying the
least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag,
calling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.

It was then eight o’clock; at half-past nine,5 it being then high

tide, the Carnatic would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda
got into the palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a
wheelbarrow, and half an hour later stepped upon the quay
whence they were to embark. Mr. Fogg then learned that the
Carnatic had sailed the evening before. He had expected to find
not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was forced to give
up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his face,
and he merely remarked to Aouda, “It is an accident, madam;
nothing more.” At this moment a man who had been observing
him attentively approached. It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed
Mr. Fogg: “Were you not, like me, sir, a passenger by the

Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?”

“I was, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg coldly. “But I have not the honour—
”

159
“Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.” “Do you
know where he is, sir?” asked Aouda anxiously. “What!”
responded Fix, feigning surprise. “Is he not with

you?”

“No,” said Aouda. “He has not made his appearance since
yesterday. Could he have gone on board the Carnatic without
us?”

“Without you, madam?” answered the detective. “Excuse me,

did you intend to sail in the Carnatic?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The

Carnatic, its repairs being completed, left Hong Kong

5 The day before (page 111), it was “announced” that the

Carnatic would leave at “five the next morning” not 9.30. Both
Towle’s translation and Verne’s original have this
inconsistency.—J.M.

twelve hours before the stated time, without any notice being
given; and we must now wait a week for another steamer.”

As he said “a week” Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detained
at Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the warrant

160
to arrive, and fortune at last favoured the representative of the
law. His horror may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in
his placid voice, “But there are other vessels besides the
Carnatic, it seems to me, in the harbour of Hong Kong.”

And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the
docks in search of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied,
followed; it seemed as if he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an
invisible thread. Chance, however, appeared really to have
abandoned the man it had hitherto served so well. For three
hours Phileas Fogg wandered about the docks, with the
determination, if necessary, to charter a vessel to carry him to
Yokohama; but he could only find vessels which were loading or
unloading, and which could not therefore set sail. Fix began to
hope again.

But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his
search, resolved not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when
he was accosted by a sailor on one of the wharves.

“Is your honour looking for a boat?” “Have you a boat ready to
sail?”

“Yes, your honour; a pilot-boat—No. 43—the best in the

harbour.”

“Does she go fast?”

“Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at her?”

“Yes.”

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“Your honour will be satisfied with her. Is it for a sea excursion?”

“No; for a voyage.”

“A voyage?”

“Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?”

The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said,
“Is your honour joking?”

“No. I have missed the Carnatic, and I must get to Yokohama

by the 14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco.”

“I am sorry,” said the sailor; “but it is impossible.”

“I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional

reward of two hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time.”

“Are you in earnest?” “Very much so.”

The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea,
evidently struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum
and the fear of venturing so far. Fix was in mortal suspense.

Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, “You would not be
afraid, would you, madam?”

“Not with you, Mr. Fogg,” was her answer.

The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands. “Well,
pilot?” said Mr. Fogg.

162
“Well, your honour,” replied he, “I could not risk myself, my men,
or my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at
this time of year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in
time, for it is sixteen hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong.”

“Only sixteen hundred,” said Mr. Fogg. “It’s the same thing.”

Fix breathed more freely.

“But,” added the pilot, “it might be arranged another way.”

Fix ceased to breathe at all. “How?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even

to Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here. In
going to Shanghai we should not be forced to sail wide of the
Chinese coast, which would be a great advantage, as the
currents run northward, and would aid us.

“Pilot,” said Mr. Fogg, “I must take the American steamer at

Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.”

“Why not?” returned the pilot. “The San Francisco steamer does
not start from Yokohama. It puts in at Yokohama and
Nagasaki, but it starts from Shanghai.”

“You are sure of that?” “Perfectly.”

“And when does the boat leave Shanghai?”

163
“On the 11th, at seven in the evening. We have, therefore, four
days before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we
had good luck and a south-west wind, and the sea was calm,
we could make those eight hundred miles to Shanghai.”

“And you could go—”

“In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the

sails put up.”

“It is a bargain. Are you the master of the boat?” “Yes; John
Bunsby, master of the Tankadere.” “Would you like some
earnest-money?”

“If it would not put your honour out—”

“Here are two hundred pounds on account. Sir,” added Phileas

Fogg, turning to Fix, “if you would like to take advantage—”

“Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favour.” “Very well. In half
an hour we shall go on board.”

“But poor Passepartout?” urged Aouda, who was much

disturbed by the servant’s disappearance.

“I shall do all I can to find him,” replied Phileas Fogg.

While Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot-boat,

the others directed their course to the police- station at Hong
Kong. Phileas Fogg there gave Passepartout’s description, and

164
left a sum of money to be spent in the search for him. The same
formalities having been gone through at the French consulate,
and the palanquin having stopped at the hotel for the luggage,
which had been sent back there, they returned to the wharf.

It was now three o’clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew on
board, and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.

The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons, as

gracefully built as if she were a racing yacht. Her shining copper
sheathing, her galvanized iron-work, her deck, white as ivory,
betrayed the pride taken by John Bunsby in making her
presentable. Her two masts leaned a trifle backward; she
carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and standing-jib, and was
well rigged for running before the wind; and she seemed
capable of brisk speed, which, indeed, she had already proved
by gaining several prizes in pilot-boat races. The crew of the
Tankadere was composed of John Bunsby, the master, and four
hardy mariners, who were familiar with the Chinese seas. John
Bunsby himself, a man of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous,
sunburnt, with a sprightly expression of the eye, and energetic
and self-reliant countenance, would have inspired confidence in
the most timid.

Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix
already installed. Below deck was a square cabin, of which the
walls bulged out in the form of cots, above a circular divan; in
the centre was a table provided with a swinging lamp. The
accommodation was confined, but neat.

165
“I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you,” said Mr. Fogg
to Fix, who bowed without responding.

The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by

the kindness of Mr. Fogg.

“It’s certain,” thought he, “though rascal as he is, he is a polite

one!”

The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past
three. Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a
last glance at the quay, in the hope of espying Passepartout. Fix
was not without his fears lest chance should direct the steps of
the unfortunate servant, whom he had so badly treated, in this
direction; in which case an explanation the reverse of
satisfactory to the detective must have ensued. But the
Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt, was still lying
under the stupefying influence of the opium.

John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and the
Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, and
standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.

166
C H A P T E R XXI

In which the master of the “Tankadere” runs great risk of losing

a reward of two hundred pounds

HIS voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture, on a

craft of twenty tons, and at that season of the year. The Chinese
seas are usually boisterous,

subject to terrible gales of wind, and especially during the

equinoxes; and it was now early November.

It would clearly have been to the master’s advantage to carry

his passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum
per day; but he would have been rash to attempt such a
voyage, and it was imprudent even to attempt to reach
Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed in the Tankadere, which
rode on the waves like a sea-gull; and perhaps he was not
wrong.

Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of

Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds,
conducted herself admirably.

“I do not need, pilot,” said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the
open sea, “to advise you to use all possible speed.”

167
“Trust me, your honour. We are carrying all the sail the wind will
let us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we
are going into port.”

“It’s your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you.” Phileas
Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart,

standing like a sailor, gazed without staggering at the

swelling waters. The young woman, who was seated aft, was
profoundly affected as she looked out upon the ocean,
darkening now with the twilight, on which she had ventured in
so frail a vessel. Above her head rustled the white sails, which
seemed like great white wings. The boat, carried forward by the
wind, seemed to be flying in the air.

Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her
insufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.
Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part of
the heavens.

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in
these seas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions
are not uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was
going, the least shock would shatter the gallant little craft.

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept

apart from his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg’s taciturn

168
tastes; besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose
favours he had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. It
seemed certain that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but
would at once take the boat for San Francisco; and the vast
extent of America would ensure him impunity and safety.
Fogg’s plan appeared to him the simplest in the world. Instead
of sailing directly from England to the United States, like a
common villain, he had traversed three quarters of the globe, so
as to gain the American continent more surely; and there, after
throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself
with the fortune stolen from the bank. But, once in the United
States, what should he, Fix, do? Should he abandon this man?
No, a hundred times no! Until he had secured his extradition, he
would not lose sight of him for an hour. It was his duty, and he
would fulfil it to the end. At all events, there was one thing to be
thankful for: Passepartout was not

with his master; and it was above all important, after the
confidences Fix had imparted to him, that the servant should
never have speech with his master.

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so

strangely disappeared. Looking at the matter from every point
of view, it did not seem to him impossible that, by some
mistake, the man might have embarked on the Carnatic at the

169
last moment; and this was also Aouda’s opinion, who regretted
very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whom she owed so
much. They might then find him at Yokohama; for if the
Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertain
if he had been on board. A brisk breeze arose about ten o’clock;
but, though it might have been prudent to take in a reef, the
pilot, after carefully examining the heavens, let the craft remain
rigged as before. The Tankadere bore sail admirably, as she
drew a great deal of water, and everything was prepared for
high

speed in case of a gale.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight,

having been already preceded by Fix, who had lain down on
one of the cots. The pilot and crew remained on deck all night.

At sunrise the next day, which was November 8th, the boat had
made more than one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean
speed of between eight and nine miles. The Tankadere still
carried all sail, and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of
speed. If the wind held as it was, the chances would be in her
favour. During the day she kept along the coast, where the
currents were favourable; the coast, irregular in profile, and
visible sometimes across the clearings, was at most five miles
distant. The sea was less boisterous, since the wind came off
land—a fortunate circumstance for the boat, which would suffer,
owing to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.

170
The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the
south-west. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down
again within two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of

the sea, ate with a good appetite, Fix being invited to share
their repast, which he accepted with secret chagrin. To travel at
this man’s expense and live upon his provisions was not
palatable to him. Still, he was obliged to eat, and so he ate.

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,
“Sir,”—this “sir” scorched his lips, and he had to control himself
to avoid collaring this “gentleman,”—“sir, you have been very
kind to give me a passage on this boat. But, though my means
will not admit of my expending them as freely as you, I must
ask to pay my share—”

“Let us not speak of that, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg. “But, if I insist—
”

“No, sir,” repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a
reply. “This enters into my general expenses.”

Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and going forward,

where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest
of the day.

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby

was in high hope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they
would reach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman
responded that he counted upon it. The crew set to work in

171
good earnest, inspired by the reward to be gained. There was
not a sheet which was not tightened, not a sail which was not
vigorously hoisted; not a lurch could be charged to the man at
the helm. They worked as desperately as if they were contesting
in a Royal Yacht regatta.

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles
had been accomplished from Hong Kong, and

Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able to reach Yokohama

without recording any delay in his journal; in which case, the
only misadventure which had overtaken him since he left
London would not seriously affect his journey.

The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate

the island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours
of the night, and crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very
rough in the straits, full of eddies formed by the counter-
currents, and the chopping waves broke her course, whilst it
became very difficult to stand on deck.

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the

heavens seemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a
speedy change, the mercury rising and falling capriciously; the
sea also, in the south-east, raised long surges which indicated a
tempest. The sun had set the evening before in a red mist, in the
midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.

172
John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the
heavens, muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said
in a low voice to Mr. Fogg, “Shall I speak out to your honour?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we are going to have a squall.”

“Is the wind north or south?” asked Mr. Fogg quietly. “South.
Look! a typhoon is coming up.”

“Glad it’s a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward.”

“Oh, if you take it that way,” said John Bunsby, “I’ve nothing
more to say.” John Bunsby’s suspicions were confirmed. At a
less advanced season of the year the typhoon, according to a
famous meteorologist, would have passed away like a luminous
cascade of electric flame; but in the winter equinox, it was to be
feared that it would burst upon them with great violence.

The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail, the
pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the
bows. A single triangular sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a
storm-jib, so as to hold the wind from behind. Then they waited.

John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but

this imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the
boat bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant. Neither Mr.
Fogg, Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck. The storm of

173
rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o’clock. With
but its bit of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a
wind an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To
compare her speed to four times that of a locomotive going on
full steam would be below the

truth.

The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne
on by monstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed
equal to theirs. Twenty times she seemed almost to be
submerged by these mountains of water which rose behind her;
but the adroit management of the pilot saved her. The
passengers were often bathed in spray, but they submitted to it
philosophically. Fix cursed it, no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes
fastened upon her protector, whose coolness amazed her,
showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm.
As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part
of his programme.

Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the
north; but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters,
bore down from the north-west. The boat, now lying in the
trough of the waves, shook and rolled terribly; the sea struck her
with fearful violence. At night the tempest increased in violence.
John Bunsby saw the approach of darkness and the rising of
the storm with dark misgivings. He thought awhile, and then
asked his crew if it was not time

174
to slacken speed. After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg,
and said, “I think, your honour, that we should do well to make
for one of the ports on the coast.”

“I think so too.”

“Ah!” said the pilot. “But which one?”

“I know of but one,” returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly. “And that is—”

“Shanghai.”

The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could

scarcely realize so much determination and tenacity. Then he
cried, “Well—yes! Your honour is right. To Shanghai!”

So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.

The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft

did not founder. Twice it would have been all over with her, if the
crew had not been constantly on the watch. Aouda was
exhausted, but did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr.
Fogg rushed to protect her from the violence of the waves.

Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury;

but the wind now returned to the south- east. It was a
favourable change, and the Tankadere again bounded forward
on this mountainous sea, though the waves crossed each other,
and imparted shocks and counter-shocks which would have
crushed a craft less solidly built. From time to time the coast
was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in sight.
The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.

175
There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became
more distinct as the sun descended toward the horizon. The
tempest had been as brief as terrific. The passengers,
thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little, and take some
repose.

The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were

again hoisted, and the speed of the boat was very good.

The next morning at dawn they espied the coast, and John
Bunsby was able to assert that they were not one hundred miles
from Shanghai. A hundred miles, and only one day to traverse
them! That very evening Mr. Fogg was due at Shanghai, if he
did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama. Had there been
no storm, during which several hours were lost, they would be at
this moment within thirty miles of their destination.

The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it.
All sails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was
within forty-five miles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours
in which to accomplish that distance. All on board feared that it
could not be done; and every one—Phileas Fogg, no doubt,
excepted—felt his heart beat with impatience. The boat must
keep up an average of nine 6 miles an hour, and the wind was
becoming calmer every moment! It was a capricious breeze,
coming from the coast, and after it passed the sea became

176
smooth. Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails
caught the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the
current, John Bunsby found himself at six o’clock not more than
ten miles from the mouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is
situated at least twelve miles up the stream. At seven they were
still three miles from Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath;
the reward of two hundred pounds was evidently on the point of
escaping him. He looked at Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly
tranquil; and yet his whole fortune was at this moment at stake.

At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths

of smoke, appeared on the edge of the waters. It was

6 Both Towle’s translation and Verne’s original say nine miles an

hour, but, actually, to travel 45 miles in 6 hours the Tankadere
would have had to keep up an average speed of only 7.5 miles
an hour.—J.M.

the American steamer, leaving for Yokohama at the appointed

time.

“Confound her!” cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder

with a desperate jerk.

“Signal her!” said Phileas Fogg quietly.

177
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the
Tankadere, for making signals in the fogs. It was loaded to the
muzzle; but just as the pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal
to the touchhole, Mr. Fogg said, “Hoist your flag!”

The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal of
distress, it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it,
would change her course a little, so as to succour the pilot-boat.

“Fire!” said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannon
resounded in the air.

178
C H A P T E R XXII

In which Passepartout finds out that, even at the antipodes, it is

convenient to have some money in one’s pocket

HE Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the

6th 7 of November, directed her course at full steam towards
Japan. She carried a large cargo and a

well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear

were, however, unoccupied,—those which had been engaged by
Phileas Fogg.

The next day a passenger, with a half-stupefied eye, staggering

gait, and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second
cabin, and to totter to a seat on deck.

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as

follows:—Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had
lifted the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the
bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later, pursued even in
his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke, and
struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The
thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried
from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself
up by keeping against the walls, falling down and

179
7 Towle’s translation and Verne’s original have the 7th, but that
is incorrect. As we’ve seen, the Carnatic set sail on the evening
of the same day Fogg arrived at Hong Kong, i.e., the 6th.—J.M.

creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct,

he kept crying out, “The Carnatic! the Carnatic!”

The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of

starting. Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing
upon the plank, he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck,
just as the Carnatic was moving off. Several sailors, who were
evidently accustomed to this sort of scene, carried the poor
Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartout did
not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from
China. Thus he found himself the next morning on the deck of
the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze.
The pure air sobered him. He began to collect his senses, which
he found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the
evening before, Fix’s revelation, and the opium-house.

“It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have been abominably

drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the
steamer, which is the most important thing.”

Then, as Fix occurred to him:—“As for that rascal, I hope we are

well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to
follow us on board the Carnatic. A detective on the track of Mr.

180
Fogg, accused of robbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg
is no more a robber than I am a murderer.”

Should he divulge Fix’s real errand to his master? Would it do to

tell the part the detective was playing? Would it not be better to
wait until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to
him that an agent of the metropolitan police had been following
him round the world, and have a good laugh over it? No doubt;
at least, it was worth considering. The first thing to do was to
find Mr. Fogg, and apologize for his singular behaviour.

Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with

the rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck. He saw no

one who resembled either his master or Aouda. “Good!”

muttered he; “Aouda has not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has
probably found some partners at whist.”

He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there.

Passepartout had only, however, to ask the purser the number
of his master’s state-room. The purser replied that he did not
know any passenger by the name of Fogg.

“I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is a tall

gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a
young lady—”

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“There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here
is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.”

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not
upon it. All at once an idea struck him.

“Ah! am I on the Carnatic?” “Yes.”

“On the way to Yokohama?” “Certainly.”

Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the

wrong boat; but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his
master was not there.

He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He

remembered that the time of sailing had been changed, that he
should have informed his master of that fact, and that he had
not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had
missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of the
traitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and
detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting
drunk! He now saw the detective’s trick; and at this moment Mr.
Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself
perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought Passepartout
tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a
settling of accounts there would be!

182
After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and
began to study his situation. It was certainly not an enviable
one. He found himself on the way to Japan, and what should he
do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he had not a
solitary shilling—not so much as a penny. His passage had
fortunately been paid for in advance; and he had five or six
days in which to decide upon his future course. He fell to at
meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and
himself. He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a
desert, where nothing to eat was to be looked for.

At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama.

This is an important way-station in the Pacific, where all the
mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North
America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in. It is
situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short distance from
that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence
of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual
Emperor, absorbed his office in his own. The Carnatic anchored
at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of
ships bearing the flags of all nations.

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of

the Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking
chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of
Yokohama. He found himself at first in a thoroughly European
quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adorned with
verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles.

183
This quarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks and
warehouses, all the space between the “promontory of the
Treaty” and the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were
mixed crowds of all races,— Americans and English, Chinamen
and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything.
The Frenchman felt

himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped down

in the midst of Hottentots.

He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and

English consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from
telling the story of his adventures, intimately connected as it
was with that of his master; and, before doing so, he
determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did not
favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that
inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if necessary, to
push on to Yeddo.

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the

goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round
about. There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar
groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid
in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by
immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered
Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable

184
streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked
children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese
screens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged
poodles and yellowish cats, might have been gathered.

The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in

processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and
custom-house officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac, and
carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue
cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado’s
guards, enveloped in silken doublets, hauberks, and coats of
mail; and numbers of military folk of all ranks—for the military
profession is as much respected in Japan as it is despised in
China—went hither and thither in groups and pairs.
Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-

robed pilgrims, and simple civilians, with their sleek 8 and jet-
black hair, big heads, long busts, slender legs, short stature, and
complexions varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but
never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely
differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages,—
carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and
litters made of bamboo; nor the women—whom he thought not
especially handsome,—who took little steps with their little feet,
whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of

185
worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests,
teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken
scarfs, tied in an enormous knot behind,—an ornament which
the modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the
dames of Japan.

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this

motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious
shops, the jewellery establishments glittering with quaint
Japanese ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers
and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage was
being drunk with saki, a liquor concocted from the fermentation
of rice, and the comfortable smoking- houses, where they were
puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a
very fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till he found himself in the
fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations. There he saw
dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers which
were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes,
but on trees; and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and
apple trees, which the

8 Previous editions read “warped and jet-black hair,” which

makes little sense. The original French reads “chevelure lisse et
d’un noir d’ébène.” The most common meaning of lisse is sleek

186
or smooth, not warped. A literal translation of that phrase would
be “sleek hair and of an ebony black.”—J.M.

Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and
which queerly fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from
the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the
branches of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the
foliage of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing
on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild
birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider
sacred, and which to their minds symbolize long life and
prosperity.

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets

among the shrubs.

“Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.”

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.

“No chance there,” thought he.

The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as

hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the Carnatic; but
as he had been walking about all day, the demands of hunger
were becoming importunate. He observed that the butchers’
stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and knowing
also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely

187
for farming, he made up his mind that meat was far from
plentiful in Yokohama,—nor was he mistaken; and in default of
butcher’s meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild boar
or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which,
with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively. But he found it
necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal
he craved till the following morning. Night came, and
Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered
through the streets, lit by vari- coloured lanterns, looking on at
the dancers who were executing skilful steps and boundings,
and the astrologers who stood in the open air with their
telescopes. Then he

came to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the
fishermen, who were fishing from their boats.

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of
which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their
suites, Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors,
succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a company passed,
Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself, “Good! another
Japanese embassy departing for Europe!”

188
C H A P T E R XXIII

In which Passepartout’s nose becomes outrageously long

HE next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to

himself that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and
the sooner he did so the better. He might, indeed, sell his watch;
but he would have starved first. Now or never he must use the
strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon
him. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to
try them upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since
they were for ever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams, and
tambourines,

and could not but appreciate European talent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert,

and the audience, prematurely aroused from their slumbers,
might not, possibly, pay their entertainer with coin bearing the
Mikado’s features. Passepartout therefore decided to wait
several hours; and, as he was sauntering along, it occurred to
him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering
artist. The idea struck him to change his garments for clothes
more in harmony with his project; by which he might also get a

189
little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger. The
resolution taken, it remained to carry it out.

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a

native dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an
exchange. The man liked the European costume, and

ere long Passepartout issued from his shop accoutred in an old

Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban, faded with long
use. A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket.

Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at the Carnival!”

His first care, after being thus “Japanesed,” was to enter a tea-
house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little
rice, to breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a
problem to be solved.

“Now,” thought he, when he had eaten heartily, “I mustn’t lose

my head. I can’t sell this costume again for one still more
Japanese. I must consider how to leave this country of the Sun,
of which I shall not retain the most delightful of memories, as
quickly as possible.”

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to

leave for America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant,
in payment of his passage and meals. Once at San Francisco,
he would find some means of going on. The difficulty was, how

190
to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific
which lay between Japan and the New World.

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and

directed his steps towards the docks. But, as he approached
them, his project, which at first had seemed so simple, began to
grow more and more formidable to his mind. What need would
they have of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and
what confidence would they put in him, dressed as he was?
What references could he give?

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense

placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets.
This placard, which was in English, read as follows:—

ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE, HONOURABLE WILLIAM

BATULCAR, PROPRIETOR, LAST REPRESENTATIONS,

Prior to their departure for the United States,

OF THE

LONG NOSES! LONG NOSES!

Under the direct patronage of the god Tingou!

GREAT ATTRACTION!

191
“The United States!” said Passepartout; “that’s just what I
want!”

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the
Japanese quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before
a large cabin, adorned with several clusters of streamers, the
exterior walls of which were designed to represent, in violent
colours and without perspective, a company of jugglers.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establish- ment.

That gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe
of mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and
gymnasts, who, according to the placard, was giving his last
performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the
States of the Union.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who

straightway appeared in person.

“What do you want?” said he to Passepartout, whom he at first

took for a native.

“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.

“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick gray beard

which hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient
and faithful, have never left me, and serve me for

192
their nourishment,—and here they are,” added he, holding out
his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as large as the strings
of a bass-viol.

“So I can be of no use to you?” “None.”

“The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!” “Ah!”
said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You are no more a Japanese
than I am a monkey! Why are you dressed

up in that way?”

“A man dresses as he can.”

“That’s true. You are a Frenchman, aren’t you?” “Yes; a Parisian

of Paris.”

“Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?” “Why,”

replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his

nationality should cause this question, “we Frenchmen know

how to make grimaces, it is true,—but not any better than the
Americans do.”

“True. Well, if I can’t take you as a servant, I can as a clown.

You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in
foreign parts French clowns.”

“Ah!”

“You are pretty strong, eh?” “Especially after a good meal.”

“And you can sing?”

193
“Yes,” returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to
sing in the streets.

“But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on
your left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?” “Humph! I
think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the

exercises of his younger days.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded there and then. Passepartout

had at last found something to do. He was

engaged to act in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a

very dignified position, but within a week he would be on his
way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the

Honourable Mr. Batulcar, was to commence at three o’clock,
and soon the deafening instruments of a Japanese orchestra
resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he had not been
able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend the aid
of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the “human
pyramid,” executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This
“great attraction” was to close the performance. Before three
o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,
comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese,

194
men, women, and children, who precipitated themselves upon
the narrow benches and into the boxes opposite the stage. The
musicians took up a position inside, and were vigorously
performing on their gongs, tam-tams,

flutes, bones, tambourines, and immense drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it

must be confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in
the world.

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful
trick of the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air,
with the odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words,
which composed a compliment to the audience; while a third
juggled with some lighted candles, which he extinguished
successively as they passed his lips, and relit again without
interrupting for an instant his juggling. Another reproduced the
most singular combinations with a spinning-top; in his hands
the revolving tops seemed to be animated with a life of their
own in their interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems, the
edges of sabres, wires, and even hairs stretched across the
stage; they turned around on the edges of large glasses,
crossed bamboo

ladders, dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange

musical effects by the combination of their various pitches of

195
tone. The jugglers tossed them in the air, threw them like
shuttlecocks with wooden battledores, and yet they kept on
spinning; they put them into their pockets, and took them out
still whirling as before.

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the

acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls,
barrels, &c., was executed with wonderful precision.

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long

Noses, a show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct

patronage of the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the
Middle Ages, they bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of
wings; but what especially distinguished them was the long
noses which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which
they made of them. These noses were made of bamboo, and
were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight, others
curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon
them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real
noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen
of these sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while
others, dressed to represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked
on their noses, jumping from one to another, and performing
the most skilful leapings and somersaults.

As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in

which fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of

196
Juggernaut. But, instead of forming a pyramid by mounting
each other’s shoulders, the artists were to group themselves on
top of the noses. It happened that the performer who had
hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and
as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were necessary,
Passepartout had been chosen to take his place.

The poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence

of his youth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-
coloured wings, and fastened to his natural feature a false nose
six feet long. But he cheered up when he thought that this nose
was winning him something to eat.

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who
were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all
stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the
ceiling. A second group of artists disposed themselves on these
long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth, until
a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre
soon arose on top of the noses. This elicited loud applause, in
the midst of which the orchestra was just striking up a
deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance was lost,
one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the
human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

197
It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, clearing
the footlights without the aid of his wings, and clambering up to
the right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the
spectators, crying, “Ah, my master! my master!”

“You here?” “Myself.”

“Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby

of the theatre to the outside, where they encountered the
Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded
damages for the “breakage” of the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg
appeased him by giving him a handful of bank-notes.

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and

Aouda, followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained
his wings, and nose six feet long, stepped upon the American
steamer.

198
C H A P T E R XXIV

During which Mr. Fogg and party cross the Pacific Ocean

HAT happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai

will be easily guessed. The signals made by the Tankadere had
been seen by the captain of

the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at half-mast, had

directed his course towards the little craft. Phileas Fogg, after
paying the stipulated price of his passage to John Bunsby, and
rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of five hundred
and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with Aouda and Fix;
and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of

November. Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the
Carnatic, where he learned, to Aouda’s great delight—and
perhaps to his own, though he betrayed no emotion—that
Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived on her the day
before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very

evening, and it became necessary to find Passepartout, if
possible, without delay. Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French
and English consuls, and, after wandering through the streets a

199
long time, began to despair of finding his missing servant.
Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at last led him into
the Honourable Mr. Batulcar’s theatre. He certainly would not
have recognized Passepartout in the

eccentric mountebank’s costume; but the latter, lying on his

back, perceived his master in the gallery. He could not help
starting, which so changed the position of his nose as to bring
the “pyramid” pell-mell upon the stage.

All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him

what had taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to
Shanghai on the Tankadere, in company with one Mr. Fix.

Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this

name. He thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge
to his master what had taken place between the detective and
himself; and in the account he gave of his absence, he simply
excused himself for having been overtaken by drunkenness, in
smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then
furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more
in harmony with his position. Within an hour the Frenchman had
cut off his nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing
about him which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.

200
The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San
Francisco belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company,
and was named the General Grant. She was a large paddle-
wheel steamer of two thousand five hundred tons, well
equipped and very fast. The massive walking- beam rose and
fell above the deck; at one end a piston-rod worked up and
down; and at the other was a connecting-rod which, in changing
the rectilinear motion to a circular one, was directly connected
with the shaft of the paddles. The General Grant was rigged
with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails, and thus
materially aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an
hour, she would cross the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas
Fogg was therefore justified in hoping that he would reach San
Francisco by the 2nd of December, New York by the 11th, and
London on the

20th—thus gaining several hours on the fatal date of the 21st of

December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among

them English, many Americans, a large number of Coolies on
their way to California, and several East Indian officers, who
were spending their vacation in making the tour of the world.
Nothing of moment happened on the voyage; the steamer,
sustained on its large paddles, rolled but little, and the “Pacific”

201
almost justified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and taciturn as
ever. His young companion felt herself more and more attached
to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous
nature impressed her more than she thought; and it was almost
unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seem
to have the least effect upon her protector. Aouda took the
keenest interest in his plans, and became impatient at any
incident which seemed likely to retard his journey.

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to

perceive the state of the lady’s heart; and, being the most
faithful of domestics, he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas
Fogg’s honesty, generosity, and devotion. He took pains to calm
Aouda’s doubts of a successful termination of the journey,
telling her that the most difficult part of it had passed, that now
they were beyond the fantastic countries of Japan and China,
and were fairly on their way to civilized places again. A railway
train from San Francisco to New York, and a transatlantic
steamer from New York to Liverpool, would doubtless bring
them to the end of this impossible journey round the world
within the period agreed upon.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had

traversed exactly one half of the terrestrial globe. The General
Grant passed, on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and
eightieth meridian, and was at the very

202
antipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true, exhausted fifty-
two of the eighty days in which he was to complete the tour,
and there were only twenty-eight left. But, though he was only
half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over
two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to
make long circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay,
from Calcutta to Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama.
Could he have followed without deviation the fiftieth parallel,
which is that of London, the whole distance would only have
been about twelve thousand miles; whereas he would be forced,
by the irregular methods of locomotion, to traverse twenty-six
thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November,
accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred. And now the
course was a straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put
obstacles in their way!

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout

made a joyful discovery. It will be remembered that the
obstinate fellow had insisted on keeping his famous family
watch at London time, and on regarding that of the countries
he had passed through as quite false and unreliable. Now, on
this day, though he had not changed the hands, he found that
his watch exactly agreed with the ship’s chronometers. His
triumph was hilarious. He would have liked to know what Fix
would say if he were aboard!

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“The rogue told me a lot of stories,” repeated Passepartout,
“about the meridians, the sun, and the moon! Moon, indeed!
moonshine more likely! If one listened to that sort of people, a
pretty sort of time one would keep! I was sure that the sun
would some day regulate itself by my watch!”

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had

been divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he
would have no reason for exultation; for the hands

of his watch would then, instead of as now indicating nine

o’clock in the morning, indicate nine o’clock in the evening, that
is the twenty-first hour after midnight,—precisely the difference
between London time and that of the one hundred and eightieth
meridian. But if Fix had been able to explain this purely physical
effect, Passepartout would not have admitted, even if he had
comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective had been on board
at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him
on a quite different subject, and in an entirely different manner.

Where was Fix at that moment?

He was actually on board the General Grant.

On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom

he expected to meet again during the day, had repaired at once
to the English consulate, where he at last found the warrant of

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arrest. It had followed him from Bombay, and had come by the
Carnatic, on which steamer he himself was supposed to be. Fix’s
disappointment may be imagined when he reflected that the
warrant was now useless. Mr. Fogg had left English ground, and
it was now necessary to procure his extradition!

“Well,” thought Fix, after a moment of anger, “my warrant is not

good here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently intends
to return to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police
off his track. Good! I will follow him across the Atlantic. As for
the money, Heaven grant there may be some left! But the fellow
has already spent in travelling, rewards, trials, bail, elephants,
and all sorts of charges, more than five thousand pounds. Yet,
after all, the Bank is rich!”

His course decided on, he went on board the General Grant, and
was there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter
amazement, he recognized Passepartout, despite his theatrical
disguise. He quickly concealed himself in his

cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and hoped—thanks to

the number of passengers—to remain unperceived by Mr.
Fogg’s servant.

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on

the forward deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for
him, grasped him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of

205
a group of Americans, who immediately began to bet on him,
administered to the detective a perfect volley of blows, which
proved the great superiority of French over English pugilistic
skill.

When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and

comforted. Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and,
looking at his adversary, coldly said, “Have you done?”

“For this time—yes.”

“Then let me have a word with you.” “But I—”

“In your master’s interest.”

Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix’s coolness, for he

quietly followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of
the passengers.

“You have given me a thrashing,” said Fix. “Good! I expected it.

Now, listen to me. Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg’s
adversary. I am now in his game.”

“Aha!” cried Passepartout; “you are convinced he is an honest

man?”

“No,” replied Fix coldly, “I think him a rascal. Sh! don’t budge,
and let me speak. As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground, it
was for my interest to detain him there until my warrant of
arrest arrived. I did everything I could to keep him back. I sent
the Bombay priests after him, I got you intoxicated at Hong

206
Kong, I separated you from him, and I made him miss the
Yokohama steamer.”

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

“Now,” resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to

England. Well, I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as
much to keep obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this
time to put them in his path. I’ve changed my game, you see,
and simply because it was for my interest to change it. Your
interest is the same as mine; for it is only in England that you
will ascertain whether you are in the service of a criminal or an
honest man.”

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced

that he spoke with entire good faith.

“Are we friends?” asked the detective.

“Friends?—no,” replied Passepartout; “but allies, perhaps. At the

least sign of treason, however, I’ll twist your neck for you.”

“Agreed,” said the detective quietly.

Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the General Grant

entered the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San
Francisco.

Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.

207
C H A P T E R XXV

In which a slight glimpse is had of San Francisco

T was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and

Passepartout set foot upon the American continent, if this name
can be given to the floating quay upon which

they disembarked. These quays, rising and falling with the tide,
thus facilitate the loading and unloading of vessels. Alongside
them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of all nationalities, and
the steamboats, with several decks rising one above the other,
which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries. There were also
heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to
Mexico, Chile, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific
islands.

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American

continent, thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous
vault in fine style; but, tumbling upon some worm- eaten planks,
he fell through them. Put out of countenance by the manner in
which he thus “set foot” upon the New World, he uttered a loud
cry, which so frightened the innumerable cormorants and
pelicans that are always perched upon these movable quays,
that they flew noisily away.

208
Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour
the first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six
o’clock p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day

to spend in the Californian capital.9 Taking a carriage at a

charge of three dollars, he and Aouda entered it, while
Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and they set
out for the International Hotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much

curiosity the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the
Anglo-Saxon Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial
wooden and brick warehouses, the numerous conveyances,
omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the sidewalks, not only
Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians.
Passepartout was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was no
longer the legendary city of 1849,—a city of banditti, assassins,
and incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of
plunder; a paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-
dust, a revolver in one hand and a bowie- knife in the other; it
was now a great commercial emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama
of the streets and avenues, which cut each other at right angles,
and in the midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares,
while beyond appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly

209
imported from the Celestial Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and
red shirts and plumed Indians were rarely to be seen; but there
were silk hats and black coats everywhere worn by a multitude
of nervously active, gentlemanly-looking men. Some of the
streets—especially Montgomery Street, which is to San
Francisco what Regent Street is to London, the Boulevard des
Italiens to Paris, and Broadway to New York—were lined with
splendid and spacious stores, which exposed in their windows
the products of the entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not

seem to him as if he had left England at all.

9 Of course, the capital isn’t San Francisco. Both Towle’s

translation and Verne’s original have this mistake. Later (page
169), Sacramento is correctly referred to as “the seat of the
State government.”—J.M.

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a

sort of restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might
partake of dried beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese, without
taking out their purses. Payment was made only for the ale,
porter, or sherry which was drunk. This seemed “very American”
to Passepartout. The hotel refreshment-rooms were
comfortable, and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing themselves at

210
a table, were abundantly served on diminutive plates by
Negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for

the English consulate to have his passport visaed. As he was
going out, he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not
be well, before taking the train, to purchase some dozens of
Enfield rifles and Colt’s revolvers. He had been listening to
stories of attacks upon the trains by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr.
Fogg thought it a useless precaution, but told him to do as he
thought best, and went on to the consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, “by

the greatest chance in the world,” he met Fix. The detective
seemed wholly taken by surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and
himself crossed the Pacific together, and not met on the
steamer! At least Fix felt honoured to behold once more the
gentleman to whom he owed so much, and as his business
recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to continue the
journey in such pleasant company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the
detective—who was determined not to lose sight of him—
begged permission to accompany them in their walk about San
Francisco—a request which Mr. Fogg readily granted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a

great crowd was collected; the sidewalks, street, horse-car rails,
the shop-doors, the windows of the houses, and even the roofs,

211
were full of people. Men were going about carrying large
posters, and flags and streamers were

floating in the wind, while loud cries were heard on every hand.

“Hurrah for Camerfield!” “Hurrah for Mandiboy!”

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said

to Mr. Fogg, “Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd.
There may be danger in it.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Fogg; “and blows, even if they are political,
are still blows.”

Fix smiled at this remark; and in order to be able to see without

being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a
flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street.
Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal
wharf and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been
erected in the open air, towards which the current of the crowd
seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of
this excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was
it to nominate some high official—a governor or member of
Congress? It was not improbable, so agitated was the multitude
before them.

212
Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human
mass. All the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed,
seemed to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries—an
energetic way, no doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed
back, the banners and flags wavered, disappeared an instant,
then reappeared in tatters. The undulations of the human surge
reached the steps, while all the heads floundered on the surface
like a sea agitated by a squall. Many of the black hats
disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to have
diminished in height.

“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object must be an

exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the Alabama,
despite the fact that that question is settled.”

“Perhaps,” replied Mr. Fogg simply.

“At least, there are two champions in presence of each other,

the Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr.
Mandiboy.”

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg’s arm, observed the tumultuous

scene with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the
cause of it all was. Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation
arose; hurrahs and excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the
banners began to be used as offensive weapons; and fists flew
about in every direction. Thumps were exchanged from the tops

213
of the carriages and omnibuses which had been blocked up in
the crowd. Boots and shoes went whirling through the air, and
Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of revolvers mingling
in the din. The rout approached the stairway, and flowed over
the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been repulsed;
but the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or
Camerfield had gained the upper hand.

“It would be prudent for us to retire,” said Fix, who was anxious
that Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they
got back to London. “If there is any question about England in
all this, and we were recognized, I fear it would go hard with
us.”

“An English subject—” began Mr. Fogg.

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose
on the terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood, and
there were frantic shouts of, “Hurrah for Mandiboy! Hip, hip,
hurrah!”

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and

taking the Camerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix
found themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape.
The torrent of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was
irresistible. Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their
attempts to protect their fair

214
companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself
with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every
Englishman’s arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a red
beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the
chief of the band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg,
whom he would have given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed
in and received it in his stead. An enormous bruise immediately
made its appearance under the detective’s silk hat, which was
completely smashed in.

“Yankee!” exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at

the ruffian.

“Englishman!” returned the other. “We will meet again!” “When

you please.”

“What is your name?” “Phileas Fogg. And yours?” “Colonel

Stamp Proctor.”

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who
speedily got upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes.
Happily, he was not seriously hurt. His travelling overcoat was
divided into two unequal parts, and his trousers resembled
those of certain Indians, which fit less compactly than they are
easy to put on. Aouda had escaped unharmed, and Fix alone
bore marks of the fray in his black and blue bruise.

“Thanks,” said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were

out of the crowd.

“No thanks are necessary,” replied Fix; “but let us go.” “Where?”

215
“To a tailor’s.”

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr.

Fogg and Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been
actively engaged in the contest between Camerfield and
Mandiboy. An hour after, they were once more suitably attired,
and with Aouda returned to the International Hotel.

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a

dozen six-barrelled revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his
brows; but Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their
adventure, his countenance resumed its placid expression. Fix
evidently was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully
keeping his word.

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and
their luggage to the station drew up to the door. As he was
getting in, Mr. Fogg said to Fix, “You have not seen this Colonel
Proctor again?”

“No.”

“I will come back to America to find him,” said Phileas Fogg

calmly. “It would not be right for an Englishman to permit
himself to be treated in that way, without retaliating.”

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr.
Fogg was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not

216
tolerate duelling at home, fight abroad when their honour is
attacked.

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and

found the train ready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr.
Fogg called a porter, and said to him, “My friend, was there not
some trouble to-day in San Francisco?”

“It was a political meeting, sir,” replied the porter.

“But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the

streets.”

“It was only a meeting assembled for an election.”

“The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“No, sir; of a justice of the peace.”

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.

217
C H A P T E R XXVI

In which Phileas Fogg and party travel by the Pacific Railroad

“ ROM ocean to ocean,”—so say the Americans; and these

four words compose the general designation of the “great trunk
line” which crosses the entire width

of the United States. The Pacific Railroad is, however, really

divided into two distinct lines: the Central Pacific, between San
Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific, between Ogden
and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha with New York.

New York and San Francisco are thus united by an

uninterrupted metal ribbon, which measures no less than three
thousand seven hundred and eighty-six miles. Between Omaha
and the Pacific the railway crosses a territory which is still
infested by Indians and wild beasts, and a large tract which the
Mormons, after they were driven from Illinois in 1845, began to
colonize.

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed,

formerly, under the most favourable conditions, at least six
months. It is now accomplished in seven days.

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of

Congress, who wished a more southerly route, it was decided to

218
lay the road between the forty-first and forty-second parallels.
President Lincoln himself fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in
Nebraska. The work was at once commenced,

and pursued with true American energy; nor did the rapidity
with which it went on injuriously affect its good execution. The
road grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day. A
locomotive, running on the rails laid down the evening before,
brought the rails to be laid on the morrow, and advanced upon
them as fast as they were put in position.

The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa,

Kansas, Colorado, and Oregon. On leaving Omaha, it passes
along the left bank of the Platte River as far as the junction of
its northern branch, follows its southern branch, crosses the
Laramie territory and the Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great
Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake City, the Mormon capital,
plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the American Desert, Cedar
and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and descends, via
Sacramento, to the Pacific,—its grade, even on the Rocky
Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the
mile.

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would

enable Phileas Fogg—at least, so he hoped—to take the Atlantic
steamer at New York on the 11th for Liverpool.

219
The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight
wheels, and with no compartments in the interior. It was
supplied with two rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction
of the train on either side of an aisle which conducted to the
front and rear platforms. These platforms were found
throughout the train, and the passengers were able to pass
from one end of the train to the other. It was supplied with
saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants, and smoking-cars;
theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will have these some
day.

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and

cigars, who seemed to have plenty of customers, were
continually circulating in the aisles.

The train left Oakland station at six o’clock. It was already

night, cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with
clouds which seemed to threaten snow. The train did not
proceed rapidly; counting the stoppages, it did not run more
than twenty miles an hour, which was a sufficient speed,
however, to enable it to reach Omaha within its designated
time.

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of
the passengers were overcome with sleep. Passepartout found
himself beside the detective; but he did not talk to him. After

220
recent events, their relations with each other had grown
somewhat cold; there could no longer be mutual sympathy or
intimacy between them. Fix’s manner had not changed; but
Passepartout was very reserved, and ready to strangle his
former friend on the slightest provocation.

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow,

however, which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing
could be seen from the windows but a vast, white sheet, against
which the smoke of the locomotive had a grayish aspect.

At eight o’clock a steward entered the car and announced that

the time for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the
car was transformed into a dormitory. The backs of the seats
were thrown back, bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out
by an ingenious system, berths were suddenly improvised, and
each traveller had soon at his disposition a comfortable bed,
protected from curious eyes by thick curtains. The sheets were
clean and the pillows soft. It only remained to go to bed and
sleep—which everybody did—while the train sped on across the
State of California.

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very

hilly. The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-
point, extends eastward to meet the road from

221
Omaha. The line from San Francisco to Sacramento runs in a
north-easterly direction, along the American River, which
empties into San Pablo Bay. The one hundred and twenty miles
between these cities were accomplished in six hours, and
towards midnight, while fast asleep, the travellers passed
through Sacramento; so that they saw nothing of that
important place, the seat of the State government, with its fine
quays, its broad streets, its noble hotels, squares, and churches.

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction,

Roclin, Auburn, and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra
Nevada. Cisco was reached at seven in the morning; and an
hour later the dormitory was transformed into an ordinary car,
and the travellers could observe the picturesque beauties of the
mountain region through which they were steaming. The railway
track wound in and out among the passes, now approaching
the mountain sides, now suspended over precipices, avoiding
abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into narrow defiles,
which seemed to have no outlet. The locomotive, its great funnel
emitting a weird light, with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher
extended like a spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the
noise of torrents and cascades, and twined its smoke among
the branches of the gigantic pines.

There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route. The

railway turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not
attempt to violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one
point to another.

222
The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson
Valley about nine o’clock, going always north- easterly; and at
midday reached Reno, where there was a delay of twenty
minutes for breakfast.

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed
northward for several miles by its banks; then

it turned eastward, and kept by the river until it reached the

Humboldt Range, nearly at the extreme eastern limit of Nevada.

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed

their places in the car, and observed the varied landscape which
unfolded itself as they passed along; the vast prairies, the
mountains lining the horizon, and the creeks with their frothy,
foaming streams. Sometimes a great herd of buffaloes,
massing together in the distance, seemed like a movable dam.
These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often form
an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains;
thousands of them have been seen passing over the track for
hours together, in compact ranks. The locomotive is then forced
to stop and wait till the road is once more clear.

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was

travelling. About three in the afternoon,10 a troop of ten or
twelve thousand head of buffalo encumbered the track. The
locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to clear the way with its

223
cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too great. The
buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now and
then deafening bellowings. There was no use of interrupting
them, for, having taken a particular direction, nothing can
moderate and change their course; it is a torrent of living flesh
which no dam could contain.

The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the

platforms; but Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to
be in a hurry, remained in his seat, and waited

10 Previous editions read “twelve o’clock,” but a few paragraphs

later it’s said that “The procession of buffaloes lasted three full
hours, and it was night before the track was clear,” which would
mean that it was night by 3 p.m.! The original French reads
“trois heures du soir,” i.e., three in the evening (afternoon is the
more common English usage). So the herd blocked the track at
about 3 p.m. and cleared it around 6 p.m.—J.M.

philosophically until it should please the buffaloes to get out of

the way.

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and

longed to discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.

224
“What a country!” cried he. “Mere cattle stop the trains, and go
by in a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel!
Parbleu! I should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in
his programme! And here’s an engineer who doesn’t dare to run
the locomotive into this herd of beasts!”

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was
wise. He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with
the cow-catcher; but the locomotive, however powerful, would
soon have been checked, the train would inevitably have been
thrown off the track, and would then have been helpless.

The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time
by greater speed when the obstacle was removed. The
procession of buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night
before the track was clear. The last ranks of the herd were now
passing over the rails, while the first had already disappeared
below the southern horizon.

It was eight o’clock when the train passed through the defiles of
the Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated
Utah, the region of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of
the Mormons.

225
C H A P T E R XXVII

In which Passepartout undergoes, at a speed of twenty miles an

hour, a course of Mormon history

URING the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-
easterly for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a
north-easterly direction, towards

the Great Salt Lake.

Passepartout, about nine o’clock, went out upon the platform to

take the air. The weather was cold, the heavens gray, but it was
not snowing. The sun’s disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an
enormous ring of gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself
by calculating its value in pounds sterling, when he was diverted
from this interesting study by a strange-looking personage who
made his appearance on the platform.

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and
dark, with black moustaches, black stockings, a black silk hat, a
black waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin
gloves. He might have been taken for a clergyman. He went
from one end of the train to the other, and affixed to the door
of each car a notice written in manuscript.

226
Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which
stated that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking
advantage of his presence on train No. 48, would deliver a
lecture on Mormonism in car No. 117, from eleven to twelve
o’clock; and that he invited all who were desirous

of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the religion of

the “Latter Day Saints” to attend.

“I’ll go,” said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of

Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its
foundation.

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained

about one hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most,
attracted by the notice, ensconced themselves in car No. 117.
Passepartout took one of the front seats. Neither Mr. Fogg nor
Fix cared to attend.

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an

irritated voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, “I
tell you that Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a
martyr, and that the persecutions of the United States
Government against the prophets will also make a martyr of
Brigham Young. Who dares to say the contrary?”

227
No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his
anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were
actually subjected. The government had just succeeded, with
some difficulty, in reducing these independent fanatics to its
rule. It had made itself master of Utah, and subjected that
territory to the laws of the Union, after imprisoning Brigham
Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy. The disciples of
the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and resisted, by
words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch, as is seen,
was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

Then, emphasizing his words with his loud voice and frequent
gestures, he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical
times: how that, in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of
Joseph published the annals of the new religion, and
bequeathed them to his son Morom; how, many centuries later,
a translation of this precious book, which was

written in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, Junior, a

Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet in
1825; and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to
him in an illuminated forest, and gave him the annals of the
Lord.

228
Several of the audience, not being much interested in the
missionary’s narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch,
continuing his lecture, related how Smith, Junior, with his father,
two brothers, and a few disciples, founded the church of the
“Latter Day Saints,” which, adopted not only in America, but in
England, Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many
artisans, as well as men engaged in the liberal professions,
among its members; how a colony was established in Ohio, a
temple erected there at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars,
and a town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an enterprising
banker, and received from a simple mummy showman a
papyrus scroll written by Abraham and several famous
Egyptians.

The Elder’s story became somewhat wearisome, and his

audience grew gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty
passengers. But this did not disconcert the enthusiast, who
proceeded with the story of Joseph Smith’s bankruptcy in 1837,
and how his ruined creditors gave him a coat of tar and
feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards, more
honourable and honoured than ever, at Independence, Missouri,
the chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and
his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement into the
far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest

Passepartout, who was listening with all his ears. Thus he
learned that, after long persecutions, Smith reappeared in

229
Illinois, and in 1839 founded a community at Nauvoo, on the
Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand souls, of which he
became mayor, chief justice, and general-in-chief; that he

announced himself, in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency

of the United States; and that finally, being drawn into
ambuscade at Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and
assassinated by a band of men disguised in masks.

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the
Elder, looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years
after the assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet,
Brigham Young, his successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the
Great Salt Lake, where, in the midst of that fertile region,
directly on the route of the emigrants who crossed Utah on their
way to California, the new colony, thanks to the polygamy
practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond expectations.

“And this,” added Elder William Hitch,—“this is why the jealousy

of Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the soldiers
of the Union invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young,
our chief, been imprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we
yield to force? Never! Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois,
driven from Ohio, driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we
shall yet find some independent territory on which to plant our
tents. And you, my brother,” continued the Elder, fixing his

230
angry eye upon his single auditor, “will you not plant yours
there, too, under the shadow of our flag?”

“No!” replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring

from the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

During the lecture the train had been making good progress,
and towards half-past twelve it reached the north- west border
of the Great Salt Lake. Thence the passengers could observe the
vast extent of this interior sea, which is also called the Dead
Sea, and into which flows an American Jordan. It is a
picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags in large strata,
encrusted with white salt,—a superb sheet of

water, which was formerly of larger extent than now, its shores
having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once
reduced its breadth and increased its depth.

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is

situated three thousand 11 eight hundred feet above the sea.
Quite different from Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve
hundred feet below the sea, it contains considerable salt, and
one quarter of the weight of its water is solid matter, its specific
weight being 1170, and, after being distilled, 1000. Fishes are of
course unable to live in it, and those which descend through the
Jordan, the Weber, and other streams, soon perish.

231
The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the
Mormons are mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for
domesticated animals, fields of wheat, corn, and other cereals,
luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild rose, clumps of acacias and
milk-wort, would have been seen six months later. Now the
ground was covered with a thin powdering of snow.

The train reached Ogden at two o’clock, where it rested for six
hours. Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt
Lake City, connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they
spent two hours in this strikingly American town, built on the
pattern of other cities of the Union, like a checker-board, “with
the sombre sadness of right angles,” as Victor Hugo expresses
it. The founder of the City of the Saints could not escape from
the taste for symmetry which

11 Previous editions read “three miles eight hundred feet above

the sea” which equals 16,640 feet. The original French reads
“trois mille huit cents pieds au-dessus du niveau de la mer.”
While mille is French for mile, it can also mean thousand, and is
used both ways many times in the original book. If Verne had
meant three miles here, he would have used the plural trois
milles. In reality, according to the U.S. Geological Survey, the
Great Salt Lake’s average surface elevation is 4,200 feet
(http://ut.water.usgs.gov/greatsaltlake/).—J.M.

232
distinguishes the Anglo-Saxons. In this strange country, where
the people are certainly not up to the level of their institutions,
everything is done “squarely,”—cities, houses, and follies.

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o’clock, about

the streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan
and the spurs of the Wahsatch Range. They saw few or no
churches, but the prophet’s mansion, the court-house, and
the arsenal, blue-brick houses with verandas and
porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias, palms,
and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded the
town; and in the principal street were the market and several
hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not seem thickly
populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the
vicinity of the Temple, which they only reached after having
traversed several quarters surrounded by palisades. There were
many women, which was easily accounted for by the “peculiar
institution” of the Mormons; but it must not be supposed that all
the Mormons are polygamists. They are free to marry or not, as
they please; but it is worth noting that it is mainly the female
citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as, according to the
Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the
possession of its highest joys. These poor creatures seemed to
be neither well off nor happy. Some—the more well-to- do, no
doubt—wore short, open black silk dresses, under a hood or
modest shawl; others were habited in Indian fashion.
Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these

233
women, charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a
single Mormon. His common sense pitied, above all, the
husband. It seemed to him a terrible thing to have to guide so
many wives at once across the vicissitudes of life, and to
conduct them, as it were, in a body to the Mormon paradise,
with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the

glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that

delightful place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from
such a vocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—
that the fair ones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances
on his person. Happily, his stay there was but brief. At four the
party found themselves again at the station, took their places in
the train, and the whistle sounded for starting. Just at the
moment, however, that the locomotive wheels began to move,
cries of “Stop! stop!” were heard.

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who
uttered the cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was
breathless with running. Happily for him, the station had neither
gates nor barriers. He rushed along the track, jumped on the
rear platform of the train, and fell exhausted into one of the
seats.

234
Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur
gymnast, approached him with lively interest, and learned that
he had taken flight after an unpleasant domestic scene.

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout

ventured to ask him politely how many wives he had; for, from
the manner in which he had decamped, it might be thought that
he had twenty at least.

“One, sir,” replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward,—

“one, and that was enough!”

235
C H A P T E R XXVIII

In which Passepartout does not succeed in making anybody

listen to reason

HE train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed

northward for an hour as far as Weber River, having completed
nearly nine hundred miles from San Francisco. From this point it
took an easterly direction towards the jagged Wahsatch
Mountains. It was in the section included between this
range and the Rocky Mountains that the American
engineers found the most formidable difficulties in laying the
road, and that the government granted a subsidy of forty-eight
thousand dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed
for the work done on the plains. But the engineers, instead of
violating nature, avoided its difficulties by winding around,
instead of penetrating the rocks. One tunnel only, fourteen
thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to arrive at the
great

basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at

the Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve,
descending towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the

236
dividing ridge of the waters between the Atlantic and the
Pacific. There were many creeks in this mountainous region, and
it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and
others, upon culverts.

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on,

while Fix longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more
anxious than Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of
delays and accidents, and set foot on English soil.

At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station,

and twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following
the valley of Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, December
7th, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green River
station. Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but, being
mixed with rain, it had half melted, and did not interrupt their
progress. The bad weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for
the accumulation of snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars,
would certainly have been fatal to Mr. Fogg’s tour.

“What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master make

this journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good
season to increase his chances?”

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the

sky and the depression of the temperature, Aouda was
experiencing fears from a totally different cause.

237
Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were
walking up and down the platforms; and among these Aouda
recognized Colonel Stamp Proctor, the same who had so grossly
insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing
to be recognized, the young woman drew back from the
window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She was attached
to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of the
most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps, the
depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her,
which she called gratitude, but which, though she was
unconscious of it, was really more than that. Her heart sank
within her when she recognized the man whom Mr. Fogg
desired, sooner or later, to call to

account for his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought
Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it was
necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive
his adversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep, to tell Fix
and Passepartout whom she had seen.

“That Proctor on this train!” cried Fix. “Well, reassure yourself,

madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg, he has got to deal with
me! It seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two.”

238
“And besides,” added Passepartout, “I’ll take charge of him,
colonel as he is.”

“Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge
him. He said that he would come back to America to find this
man. Should he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent
a collision which might have terrible results. He must not see
him.”

“You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between them

might ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg
would be delayed, and—”

“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the

gentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New
York. Well, if my master does not leave this car during those
four days, we may hope that chance will not bring him face to
face with this confounded American. We must, if possible,
prevent his stirring out of it.”

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was
looking out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without
being heard by his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective,
“Would you really fight for him?”

“I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed

determined will, “to get him back, living, to Europe!”

239
Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his
frame, but his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid
a meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a
difficult task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and
little curious. The detective, at least, seemed to have found a
way; for, after a few moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, “These are
long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing on the railway.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”

“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on the
steamers.”

“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards

nor partners.”

“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all
the American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—”

“Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist. It is

part of an English education.”

“I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well,

here are three of us, and a dummy—”

“As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to

resume his favourite pastime,—even on the railway.

Passepartout was despatched in search of the steward, and

soon returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and
a shelf covered with cloth.

240
The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently
well, and even received some compliments on her playing from
Mr. Fogg. As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and
worthy of being matched against his present opponent.

“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He won’t budge.”

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing

ridge of the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five
hundred and twenty-four feet above the level of the sea, one of
the highest points attained by the track in crossing the Rocky
Mountains. After going about two hundred miles, the travellers
at last found themselves on one of those vast plains which
extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so propitious
for laying the iron road.

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches

of the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern
and eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semicircular
curtain which is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky
Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak. Between this and
the railway extended vast plains, plentifully irrigated. On the
right rose the lower spurs of the mountainous mass which
extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas River, one of
the great tributaries of the Missouri.

241
At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of
Fort Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more
hours the Rocky Mountains were crossed. There was reason to
hope, then, that no accident would mark the journey through
this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling, and the air
became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the
locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance. No wild beast
appeared on the plain. It was a desert in its vast nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and

his partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling
was heard, and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head
out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay; no station
was in view.

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head
to get out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to
his servant, “See what is the matter.”

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers

had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the
way. The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a
signal-man, whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next
stopping place, had sent on before. The passengers drew

242
around and took part in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor,
with his insolent manner, was conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No!

you can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would
not bear the weight of the train.”

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a

mile from the place where they now were. According to the
signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron
wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage.
He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge. It
may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually
are, when they are prudent there is good reason for it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he

heard, listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

“Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going to stay

here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?”

“Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed to

Omaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine
Bow in less than six hours.”

“Six hours!” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly,” returned the conductor. “Besides, it will take us as

long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot.”

243
“But it is only a mile from here,” said one of the passengers.

“Yes, but it’s on the other side of the river.”

“And can’t we cross that in a boat?” asked the colonel. “That’s

impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It

is a rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to

the north to find a ford.”

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway

company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was
furious, was not disinclined to make common cause with him.
Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all his master’s bank-notes
could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers,

who, without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to
trudge fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They
grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thus
attracted Phileas Fogg’s attention, if he had not been
completely absorbed in his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master

what had occurred, and, with hanging head he was turning
towards the car, when the engineer—a true Yankee, named
Forster—called out, “Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after
all, to get over.”

“On the bridge?” asked a passenger. “On the bridge.”

“With our train?” “With our train.”

244
Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the
engineer.

“But the bridge is unsafe,” urged the conductor.

“No matter,” replied Forster; “I think that by putting on the very

highest speed we might have a chance of getting over.”

“The devil!” muttered Passepartout.

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the

engineer’s proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially
delighted, and found the plan a very feasible one. He told
stories about engineers leaping their trains over rivers without
bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those present
avowed themselves of the engineer’s mind.

“We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over,” said

one.

“Eighty! ninety!”

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt

anything to get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment
proposed a little too American. “Besides,” thought he, “there’s a
still more simple way, and it does not even occur to any of these
people! Sir,” said he aloud to one of the passengers, “the
engineer’s plan seems to me a little dangerous, but—”

245
“Eighty chances!” replied the passenger, turning his back on
him.

“I know it,” said Passepartout, turning to another passenger,

“but a simple idea—”

“Ideas are no use,” returned the American, shrugging his

shoulders, “as the engineer assures us that we can pass.”

“Doubtless,” urged Passepartout, “we can pass, but perhaps it

would be more prudent—”

“What! Prudent!” cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed

to excite prodigiously. “At full speed, don’t you see, at full
speed!”

“I know—I see,” repeated Passepartout; “but it would be, if not

more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more
natural—”

“Who! What! What’s the matter with this fellow?” cried several.

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

“Are you afraid?” asked Colonel Proctor.

“I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman

can be as American as they!”

“All aboard!” cried the conductor.

246
“Yes, all aboard!” repeated Passepartout, and immediately. “But
they can’t prevent me from thinking that it would be more
natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come
after!”

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would any one have
acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places
in the cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had
passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the

steam, backed the train for nearly a mile— retiring, like a
jumper, in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another
whistle, he began to move forward; the train increased its
speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful; a prolonged
screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and
down twenty strokes to the second. They perceived that the
whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour,
hardly bore upon the rails at all.

And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the
bridge. The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the
other, and the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five
miles beyond the station. But scarcely had the train passed the
river, when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into
the rapids of Medicine Bow.

247
C H A P T E R XXIX

In which certain incidents are narrated which are only to be met

with on American railroads

HE train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption,

passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyenne Pass, and reaching
Evans Pass. The road here attained

the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-

one feet above the level of the sea. The travellers had now only
to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, levelled by nature.
A branch of the “grand trunk” led off southward to Denver, the
capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and
silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already
settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over

from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days
and nights more would probably bring them to New York.
Phileas Fogg was not as yet behindhand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge
Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary
between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered

248
Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at
Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on

the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge.
Two powerful locomotives, carrying

nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C.

Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers
were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation
Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the
Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train.
Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a
mighty instrument of progress and civilization, thrown across
the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which
do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful
than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American
soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and

three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed
before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious
windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left
bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North
Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each

249
other around it and form a single artery,—a large tributary
whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not
even the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had
begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to
lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than
Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that
gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of

playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a
diamond.”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel
Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognized each other at once.

“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel; “it’s you who
are going to play a spade!”

“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down
the ten of spades.

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel

Proctor, in an insolent tone.

250
He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just
been played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about
whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr.
Fogg’s arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready
to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his
opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said,
“You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it
was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and
mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I
should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for
it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with
whatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the

detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout
wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from
his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the
American followed him upon the platform.

251
“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to
get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to
my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor. “Sir,” said Mr.
Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at

San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you

as soon as I had completed the business which called me to
England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?” “Why not
ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg, “and I shall be at the

place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?” “No.”

“To Chicago?” “No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will
stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots
could be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

252
“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American
insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as

usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers
were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the
approaching duel, a request which the detective

could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with
perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they

were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and,
followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout
accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained
in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared
on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his
second. But just as the combatants were about to step from
the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get
off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.” “But I am
going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

253
“I am sorry,” said the conductor, “but we shall be off at once.
There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “Under

any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige
you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why
not fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,” said

the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the

conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed

through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only
occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely
asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a
few moments, as two gentlemen had an

affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request

with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

254
The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for
their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the
aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily
arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two
six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining
outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first
whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what
remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that

Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would
crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when
suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by
reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the
duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole
length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of
the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted

their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most
clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by
a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more
than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of
them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps
without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a
horse at full gallop.

255
The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports,
to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded
by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the
engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux
chief, wishing to stop the train, but not

knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of

closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging
forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like
enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and
fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the
baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the
train. The cries and shots were constant.

The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars

were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts,
carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended

herself, like a true heroine, with a revolver, which she shot
through the broken windows whenever a savage made his
appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the
ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as

256
if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned,
lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had

lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of
the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station,
where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that
once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between
Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot
and fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is
stopped in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from

the car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a
door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under
the car; and while the struggle continued, and

the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use
of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility
worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding
himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from

257
one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the
forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and

the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but,
owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in
unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted
this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained
a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with
increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved

for several minutes; but the brakes were worked, and at last
they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the
Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before
the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station

platform several were found missing; among others the
courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.

258
C H A P T E R XXX

In which Phileas Fogg simply does his duty

HREE passengers—including Passepartout—had disappeared.

Had they been killed in the struggle?

Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to

tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor

was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and
a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with
the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as
could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest
of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly
wounded in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and
tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which
were stained with blood. From the tires and spokes hung
ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the
white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were
disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.

259
Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a
serious decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at
him without speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant
was a prisoner, ought he not to risk everything

to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living or dead,”
said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and covering
them with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.” Phileas

Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he
pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would
make him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be
certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is my

duty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred

of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend
the station, should the Sioux attack it.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have

disappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

260
“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be
solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?”

“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain. “These

Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave
the fort unprotected.”

“The lives of three men are in question, sir,” said Phileas Fogg.

“Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?”

“I don’t know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do

so.”

“Nobody here,” returned the other, “has a right to teach

me my duty.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.” “You, sir!”
cried Fix coming up; “you go alone in

pursuit of the Indians?”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish,— him to

whom every one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in
spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” he
added, turning to the soldiers.

261
The whole company started forward at once. The captain had
only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant
placed at their head.

“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.

“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you

will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—
”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate

himself from the man whom he had so persistently followed
step by step! Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix
gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and
of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his
eyes before that calm and frank look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s

hand, and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went
off with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he
had said to the soldiers, “My friends, I will divide five thousand
dollars among you, if we save the prisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone,

thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil

262
courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was
now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal
his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform,
but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly
of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go

alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the
world, was permitted now to separate himself from him! He
began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were director
of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his
greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see it. He
has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who
have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so
fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too

slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted
to tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman
would receive his confidences. What course should he take? He
thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plain; it did not
seem impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were
easily printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every
imprint would be effaced.

263
Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable
longing to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave
Fort Kearney station, and pursue his journey homeward in
peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard,

long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great
shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing
still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No
train was expected from the east, neither had there been time
for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from
Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The
mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening

whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train,
had continued its route with such terrific

rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It

had run several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of
fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally stopped an
hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the
engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for
some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train
had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the
desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had

264
happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had
become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the
train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue

on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train,
which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging.
Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the
pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running
backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in
the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place
at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so
terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the

station, and asked the conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“At once, madam.”

“But the prisoners—our unfortunate fellow-travellers—” “I

cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We

are already three hours behind time.”

“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”

“To-morrow evening, madam.”

“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait—

”

265
“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to go,
please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there
was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up
his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was
there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the car,
an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform
burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind
again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to
struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among

them Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken
their places in the train. The buzzing of the overheated boiler
was heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The
engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared,
mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling
snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very
cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have
been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming
out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and
peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist
which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible,

266
some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she
would return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse
of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where
could they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they
having a conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid
the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he
tried to conceal his apprehensions. As

night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became

intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither
flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart

stifled with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains.
Her imagination carried her far off, and showed her
innumerable dangers. What she suffered through the long hours
it would be impossible to describe.

Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep.
Once a man approached and spoke to him, and the detective
merely replied by shaking his head.

Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disk of

the sun rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to
recognize objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad

267
had gone southward; in the south all was still vacancy. It was
then seven o’clock.

The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course
to take. Should he send another detachment to the rescue of
the first? Should he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of
saving those already sacrificed? His hesitation did not last long,
however. Calling one of his lieutenants, he was on the point of
ordering a reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a
signal? The soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off
they perceived a little band returning in good order.

Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travellers, rescued from the
Sioux.

They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort
Kearney. Shortly before the detachment arrived, Passepartout
and his companions had begun to struggle with their captors,
three of whom the Frenchman had felled with

his fists, when his master and the soldiers hastened up to their
relief.

All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the
reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not

268
without reason, muttered to himself, “It must certainly be
confessed that I cost my master dear!”

Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would

have been difficult to analyze the thoughts which struggled
within him. As for Aouda, she took her protector’s hand and
pressed it in her own, too much moved to speak.

Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he

thought he should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and
he hoped that the time lost might be regained.

“The train! the train!” cried he. “Gone,” replied Fix.

“And when does the next train pass here?” said Phileas Fogg.

“Not till this evening.”

“Ah!” returned the impassible gentleman quietly.

269
C H A P T E R XXXI

In which Fix the detective considerably furthers the interests of

Phileas Fogg

HILEAS FOGG found himself twenty hours behind time.

Passepartout, the involuntary cause of this delay, was
desperate. He had ruined his master!

At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and looking

him intently in the face, said,—

“Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?” “Quite seriously.”

“I have a purpose in asking,” resumed Fix. “Is it absolutely

necessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before
nine o’clock in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for
Liverpool?”

“It is absolutely necessary.”

“And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians,

you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?”

“Yes; with twelve 12 hours to spare before the steamer left.”

“Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from

twenty leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish
to try to do so?”

270
12 Previous editions read “eleven,” but Fix replies, “Twelve from
twenty leaves eight.” The original French reads “douze,” i.e.,
twelve.—J.M.

“On foot?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“No; on a sledge,” replied Fix. “On a sledge with sails.

A man has proposed such a method to me.”

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and
whose offer he had refused.

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix having pointed out
the man, who was walking up and down in front of the station,
Mr. Fogg went up to him. An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the
American, whose name was Mudge, entered a hut built just
below the fort.

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on

two long beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a
sledge, and upon which there was room for five or six persons. A
high mast was fixed on the frame, held firmly by metallic
lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail. This
mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a
sort of rudder served to guide the vehicle. It was, in short, a
sledge rigged like a sloop. During the winter, when the trains are
blocked up by the snow, these sledges make extremely rapid

271
journeys across the frozen plains from one station to another.
Provided with more sail than a cutter, and with the wind behind
them, they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed
equal if not superior to that of the express trains.

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this

landcraft. The wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing
from the west. The snow had hardened, and Mudge was very
confident of being able to transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to
Omaha. Thence the trains eastward run frequently to Chicago
and New York. It was not impossible that the lost time might
yet be recovered; and such an opportunity was not to be
rejected.

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in

the open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her

with Passepartout at Fort Kearney, the servant taking upon

himself to escort her to Europe by a better route and under
more favourable conditions. But Aouda refused to separate
from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with her
decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while
Fix was with him.

It would be difficult to guess the detective’s thoughts. Was his

conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg’s return, or did he still regard
him as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the

272
world completed, would think himself absolutely safe in
England? Perhaps Fix’s opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat
modified; but he was nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and
to hasten the return of the whole party to England as much as
possible.

At eight o’clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers

took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in
their travelling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted, and
under the pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened
snow with a velocity of forty miles an hour.

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly,
is at most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the
distance might be traversed in five hours; if no accident
happened, the sledge might reach Omaha by one o’clock.

What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not

speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were
going. The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves.
When the breeze came, skimming the earth, the sledge seemed
to be lifted off the ground by its sails. Mudge, who was at the
rudder, kept in a straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked
the lurches which the vehicle had a tendency to make. All the
sails were up, and the jib was so arranged as not to screen the
brigantine. A

273
topmast was hoisted, and another jib, held out to the wind,
added its force to the other sails. Although the speed could not
be exactly estimated, the sledge could not be going at less than
forty miles an hour.

“If nothing breaks,” said Mudge, “we shall get there!” Mr. Fogg
had made it for Mudge’s interest to reach

Omaha within the time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome

reward.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight

line, was as flat as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The
railroad which ran through this section ascended from the
south-west to the north-west by Great Island, Columbus, an
important Nebraska town, Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. It
followed throughout the right bank of the Platte River. The
sledge, shortening this route, took the chord of the arc
described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of being
stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road,
then, was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but
two things to fear,—an accident to the sledge, and a change or
calm in the wind.

But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend
the mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly.
These lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument,
resounded as if vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along in

274
the midst of a plaintively intense melody. “Those chords give the
fifth and the octave,” said Mr.

Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda,
cosily packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as
possible from the attacks of the freezing wind. As for
Passepartout, his face was as red as the sun’s disk when it sets
in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled the biting air. With his
natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope again. They would
reach New York on the evening, if

not on the morning, of the 11th, and there were still some
chances that it would be before the steamer sailed for
Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by

the hand. He remembered that it was the detective who
procured the sledge, the only means of reaching Omaha in time;
but, checked by some presentiment, he kept his usual reserve.
One thing, however, Passepartout would never forget, and that
was the sacrifice which Mr. Fogg had made, without hesitation,
to rescue him from the Sioux. Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune
and his life. No! His servant would never forget that!

275
While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different,
the sledge flew fast over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it
passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams
disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The plain was
absolutely deserted. Between the Union Pacific road and the
branch which unites Kearney with Saint Joseph it formed a
great uninhabited island. Neither village, station, nor fort
appeared. From time to time they sped by some phantom- like
tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind.
Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt,
famished, ferocious prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge.
Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready to fire on
those which came too near. Had an accident then happened to
the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would have
been in the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course,
soon gained on the wolves, and ere long left the howling band
at a safe distance behind.

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was

crossing the Platte River. He said nothing, but he felt certain
that he was now within twenty miles of Omaha. In less than an
hour he left the rudder and furled his sails, whilst

the sledge, carried forward by the great impetus the wind had
given it, went on half a mile further with its sails unspread.

276
It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white
with snow, said, “We have got there!”

Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication,

by numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!

Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened

limbs, and aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend
from the sledge. Phileas Fogg generously rewarded Mudge,
whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped, and the party
directed their steps to the Omaha railway station.

The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important

Nebraska town. Omaha is connected with Chicago by the
Chicago and Rock Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and
passes fifty stations.

A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached
the station, and they only had time to get into the cars. They
had seen nothing of Omaha; but Passepartout confessed to
himself that this was not to be regretted, as they were not
travelling to see the sights.

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council

Bluffs, Des Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed
the Mississippi at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered
Illinois. The next day, which was the 10th, at four o’clock in the
evening, it reached Chicago, already risen from its ruins, and
more proudly seated than ever on the borders of its beautiful
Lake Michigan.

277
Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but
trains are not wanting at Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once
from one to the other, and the locomotive of the Pittsburgh,
Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left at full speed, as if it fully
comprehended that that gentleman had no time to lose. It
traversed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and

New Jersey like a flash, rushing through towns with antique

names, some of which had streets and car-tracks, but as yet no
houses. At last the Hudson came into view; and at a quarter-
past eleven in the evening of the 11th, the train stopped in the
station on the right bank of the river, before the very pier of the
Cunard line.

The China, for Liverpool, had started three quarters of an hour

before!

278
C H A P T E R XXXII

In which Phileas Fogg engages in a direct struggle with bad

fortune

HE China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg’s

last hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his
projects. The Pereire, of the

French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable steamers are

equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until the 14th;
the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London,
but to Havre; and the additional trip from Havre to
Southampton would render Phileas Fogg’s last efforts of no
avail. The Inman steamer did not depart till the next day, and
could not cross the Atlantic in time to save the wager.

Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave
him the daily movements of the transatlantic steamers.

Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat

by three quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of
helping his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his
path! And when he recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he
counted up the sums expended in pure loss and on his own
account, when he thought that the immense stake, added to the

279
heavy charges of this useless journey, would completely ruin Mr.
Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with bitter self-accusations. Mr.
Fogg, however, did

not reproach him; and, on leaving the Cunard pier, only said,
“We will consult about what is best to-morrow. Come.”

The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and
drove in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway.
Rooms were engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas
Fogg, who slept profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the
others, whose agitation did not permit them to rest.

The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the
morning of the 12th, to a quarter before nine in the evening of
the 21st, there were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five
minutes. If Phileas Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest
steamers on the Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and
then London, within the period agreed upon.

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout

instructions to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready
at an instant’s notice. He proceeded to the banks of the
Hudson, and looked about among the vessels moored or
anchored in the river, for any that were about to depart. Several
had departure signals, and were preparing to put to sea at
morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port, there is

280
not one day in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every
quarter of the globe. But they were mostly sailing vessels, of
which, of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.

He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored

at the Battery, a cable’s length off at most, a trading vessel,
with a screw, well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of
smoke, indicated that she was getting ready for departure.

Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself
on board the Henrietta, iron-hulled, wood-built above. He
ascended to the deck, and asked for the captain,

who forthwith presented himself. He was a man of fifty, a sort

of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of oxidized copper, red
hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.

“The captain?” asked Mr. Fogg. “I am the captain.”

“I am Phileas Fogg, of London.”

“And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff.” “You are going to put to

sea?”

“In an hour.”

“You are bound for—” “Bordeaux.”

“And your cargo?”

“No freight. Going in ballast.” “Have you any passengers?”

281
“No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way.”

“Is your vessel a swift one?”

“Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known.”

“Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?”

“To Liverpool? Why not to China?” “I said Liverpool.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux.”

“Money is no object?” “None.”

The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.

“But the owners of the Henrietta—” resumed Phileas Fogg.

“The owners are myself,” replied the captain. “The vessel

belongs to me.”

“I will freight it for you.” “No.”

“I will buy it of you.” “No.”

Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the
situation was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong
Kong, nor with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain
of the Tankadere. Up to this time money had smoothed away
every obstacle. Now money failed.

282
Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat,
unless by balloon,—which would have been venturesome,
besides not being capable of being put in practice. It seemed
that Phileas Fogg had an idea, for he said to the captain, “Well,
will you carry me to Bordeaux?”

“No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars.” “I offer you two
thousand.”

“Apiece?”

“Apiece.”

“And there are four of you?” “Four.”

Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight

thousand dollars to gain, without changing his route; for which
it was well worth conquering the repugnance he had for all kinds
of passengers. Besides, passengers at two thousand dollars are
no longer passengers, but valuable merchandise. “I start at nine
o’clock,” said Captain Speedy, simply. “Are you and your party
ready?”

“We will be on board at nine o’clock,” replied, no less simply, Mr.

Fogg.

It was half-past eight. To disembark from the Henrietta, jump

into a hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda,
Passepartout, and even the inseparable Fix, was the

283
work of a brief time, and was performed by Mr. Fogg with the
coolness which never abandoned him. They were on board when
the Henrietta made ready to weigh anchor.

When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to

cost, he uttered a prolonged “Oh!” which extended throughout
his vocal gamut.

As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would

certainly not come out of this affair well indemnified. When they
reached England, even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls
of bank-bills into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds
would have been spent!

284
C H A P T E R XXXIII

In which Phileas Fogg shows himself equal to the occasion

N hour after, the Henrietta passed the lighthouse which marks

the entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook,
and put to sea. During the day

she skirted Long Island, passed Fire Island, and directed her
course rapidly eastward.

At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain

the vessel’s position. It might be thought that this was Captain
Speedy. Not the least in the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire.
As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock
and key, and was uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at
once pardonable and excessive.

What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go

to Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there. Then
Phileas Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during the
thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed
with his bank-notes that the sailors and stokers, who were only
an occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the
captain, went over to him in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg
was in command instead of Captain Speedy; why the captain

285
was a prisoner in his cabin; and why, in short, the Henrietta was
directing her course towards Liverpool. It was very clear, to see
Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.

How the adventure ended will be seen anon. Aouda was

anxious, though she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he
thought Mr. Fogg’s manœuvre simply glorious. The captain had
said “between eleven and twelve knots,” and the Henrietta
confirmed his prediction.

If, then—for there were “ifs” still—the sea did not become too
boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no
accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta
might cross the three thousand miles from New York to
Liverpool in the nine days, between the 12th and the 21st of
December. It is true that, once arrived, the affair on board the
Henrietta, added to that of the Bank of England, might create
more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or could desire.

During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea
was not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the
north-east, the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed
across the waves like a real transatlantic steamer.

Passepartout was delighted. His master’s last exploit, the

consequences of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had
the crew seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm

286
friendships with the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic
feats. He thought they managed the vessel like gentlemen, and
that the stokers fired up like heroes. His loquacious good
humour infected every one. He had forgotten the past, its
vexations and delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly
accomplished; and sometimes he boiled over with impatience,
as if heated by the furnaces of the Henrietta. Often, also, the
worthy fellow revolved around Fix, looking at him with a keen,
distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him, for their old
intimacy no longer existed.

Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was

going on. The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of

the crew, Fogg managing the boat like a skilled seaman,

amazed and confused him. He did not know what to think. For,
after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousand
pounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was not
unnaturally inclined to conclude that the Henrietta under Fogg’s
command, was not going to Liverpool at all, but to some part of
the world where the robber, turned into a pirate, would quietly
put himself in safety. The conjecture was at least a plausible
one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he had
embarked in the affair.

287
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his
cabin; and Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his
meals, courageous as he was, took the greatest precautions. Mr.
Fogg did not seem even to know that there was a captain on
board.

On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of

Newfoundland, a dangerous locality; during the winter,
especially, there are frequent fogs and heavy gales of wind.
Ever since the evening before the barometer, suddenly falling,
had indicated an approaching change in the atmosphere; and
during the night the temperature varied, the cold became
sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.

This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his
course, furled his sails and increased the force of the steam;
but the vessel’s speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea,
the long waves of which broke against the stern. She pitched
violently, and this retarded her progress. The breeze little by
little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared that the
Henrietta might not be able to maintain herself upright on the
waves.

Passepartout’s visage darkened with the skies, and for two days
the poor fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg
was a bold mariner, and knew how to maintain headway
against the sea; and he kept on his course, without

288
even decreasing his steam. The Henrietta, when she could not
rise upon the waves, crossed them, swamping her deck, but
passing safely. Sometimes the screw rose out of the water,
beating its protruding end, when a mountain of water raised the
stern above the waves; but the craft always kept straight
ahead.

The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have

been feared; it was not one of those tempests which burst, and
rush on with a speed of ninety miles an hour. It continued fresh,
but, unhappily, it remained obstinately in the south-east,
rendering the sails useless.

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas

Fogg’s departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet
been seriously delayed. Half of the voyage was almost
accomplished, and the worst localities had been passed. In
summer, success would have been well-nigh certain. In winter,
they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout said
nothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself
with the reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still
count on the steam.

On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg,

and began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why—
it was a presentiment, perhaps—Passepartout became vaguely
uneasy. He would have given one of his ears to hear with the

289
other what the engineer was saying. He finally managed to
catch a few words, and was sure he heard his master say, “You
are certain of what you tell me?”

“Certain, sir,” replied the engineer. “You must remember that,

since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces,
and though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New
York to Bordeaux, we haven’t enough to go with all steam from
New York to Liverpool.”

“I will consider,” replied Mr. Fogg.

Passepartout understood it all; he was seized with mortal

anxiety. The coal was giving out! “Ah, if my master can get over
that,” muttered he, “he’ll be a famous man!” He could not help
imparting to Fix what he had overheard.

“Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?”

“Of course.”

“Ass!” replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning

on his heel.

Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the

epithet, the reason of which he could not for the life of him
comprehend; but he reflected that the unfortunate Fix was
probably very much disappointed and humiliated in his self-

290
esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a false scent
around the world, and refrained.

And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult
to imagine. Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one,
for that evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, “Feed
all the fires until the coal is exhausted.”

A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomited forth

torrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all
steam on; but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted,
announced that the coal would give out in the course of the day.

“Do not let the fires go down,” replied Mr. Fogg. “Keep them up
to the last. Let the valves be filled.”

Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position,

called Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy.
It was as if the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain
a tiger. He went to the poop, saying to himself, “He will be like a
madman!”

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on

the poop-deck. The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that
he was on the point of bursting. “Where are

291
we?” were the first words his anger permitted him to utter. Had
the poor man been apoplectic, he could never have recovered
from his paroxysm of wrath.

“Where are we?” he repeated, with purple face.

“Seven hundred and seventy miles from Liverpool,” replied Mr.

Fogg, with imperturbable calmness.

“Pirate!” cried Captain Speedy. “I have sent for you, sir—”

“Pickaroon!”

“—Sir,” continued Mr. Fogg, “to ask you to sell me your vessel.”

“No! By all the devils, no!”

“But I shall be obliged to burn her.” “Burn the Henrietta!”

“Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given

out.”

“Burn my vessel!” cried Captain Speedy, who could

scarcely pronounce the words. “A vessel worth fifty thousand

dollars!”

“Here are sixty thousand,” replied Phileas Fogg, handing the

captain a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect on
Andrew Speedy. An American can scarcely remain unmoved at
the sight of sixty thousand dollars. The captain forgot in an
instant his anger, his imprisonment, and all his grudges against
his passenger. The Henrietta was twenty years old; it was a

292
great bargain. The bomb would not go off after all. Mr. Fogg
had taken away the match.

“And I shall still have the iron hull,” said the captain in a softer
tone.

“The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?” “Agreed.”

And Andrew Speedy, seizing the bank-notes, counted them and

consigned them to his pocket.

During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and

Fix seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly
twenty thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the
hull and engine to the captain, that is, near the whole value of
the craft! It is true, however, that fifty-five thousand pounds
had been stolen from the bank.

When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said
to him, “Don’t let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I
shall lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by
a quarter before nine on the evening of the 21st of December. I
missed the steamer at New York, and as you refused to take
me to Liverpool—”

“And I did well!” cried Andrew Speedy; “for I have gained at

least forty thousand dollars by it!” He added, more sedately,
“Do you know one thing, Captain—”

293
“Fogg.”

“Captain Fogg, you’ve got something of the Yankee about you.”

And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high

compliment, he was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, “The
vessel now belongs to me?”

“Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts,—all the

wood, that is.”

“Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled
down, and burn them.”

It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the

adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks,
and the spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of
December, the masts, rafts, and spars were burned; the crew
worked lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut,
and sawed away with all his might. There was a perfect rage for
demolition.

The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides
disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now

only a flat hulk. But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and
Fastnet Light. By ten in the evening they were passing
Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only twenty-four hours more in
which to get to London; that length of time was necessary to

294
reach Liverpool, with all steam on. And the steam was about to
give out altogether!

“Sir,” said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in

Mr. Fogg’s project, “I really commiserate you. Everything is
against you. We are only opposite Queenstown.” “Ah,” said Mr.
Fogg, “is that place where we see the

lights Queenstown?” “Yes.”

“Can we enter the harbour?”

“Not under three hours. Only at high tide.”

“Stay,” replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his

features that by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt
once more to conquer ill-fortune.

Queenstown is the Irish port at which the transatlantic steamers

stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by
express trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin
they are sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus
gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.

Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.

Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the
Henrietta, he would be there by noon, and would therefore have
time to reach London before a quarter before nine in the
evening.

The Henrietta entered Queenstown harbour at one o’clock in the

morning, it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being

295
grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that
gentleman on the levelled hulk of his craft, which was still worth
half what he had sold it for.

The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to

arrest Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What

struggle was going on within him? Had he changed his mind

about “his man”? Did he understand that he had made a grave
mistake? He did not, however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got
upon the train, which was just ready to start, at half-past one;
at dawn of day they were in Dublin; and they lost no time in
embarking on a steamer which, disdaining to rise upon the
waves, invariably cut through them.

Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at

twenty minutes before twelve, December 21st. He was only six
hours distant from London.

But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg’s
shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said, “You are really Phileas
Fogg?”

“I am.”

“I arrest you in the Queen’s name!”

296
C H A P T E R XXXIV

In which Phileas Fogg at last reaches London

HILEAS FOGG was in prison. He had been shut up in the

Custom House, and he was to be transferred to London the next
day.

Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have

fallen upon Fix, had he not been held back by some policeman.
Aouda was thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which
she could not understand. Passepartout explained to her how it
was that the honest and courageous Fogg was arrested as a
robber. The young woman’s heart revolted against so heinous a
charge, and when she saw that she could attempt or do nothing
to save her protector, wept bitterly.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,
whether Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of

this new misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix’s errand from his
master? When Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why
had he not told Mr. Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he
would no doubt have given Fix proof of his innocence, and
satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix would not have

297
continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of his
master, only to arrest him the moment he set foot on English
soil. Passepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his
brains out.

Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico
of the Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both
were anxious to see Mr. Fogg again.

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when
he was about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having
arrived at Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st
of December, he had till a quarter before nine that evening to
reach the Reform Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter; the
journey from Liverpool to London was six hours.

If any one, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he

would have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and
without apparent anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is
true, resigned; but this last blow failed to force him into an
outward betrayal of any emotion. Was he being devoured by
one of those secret rages, all the more terrible because
contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible force,
at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly
waiting—for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe,

298
now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he
would succeed?

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch
upon the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word
escaped his lips, but his look was singularly set and stern. The
situation, in any event, was a terrible one, and might be thus
stated: If Phileas Fogg was honest, he was ruined. If he was a
knave, he was caught.

Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were

any practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping
from it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room.
But the door was locked, and the window heavily barred with
iron rods. He sat down again, and drew his journal from his
pocket. On the line where these words

were written, “December 21st, Saturday, Liverpool,” he added,

“80th day, 11.40 a.m.,” and waited.

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his
watch was two hours too fast.

Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an

express train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a
quarter before nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.

299
At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise
outside, then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout’s voice
was audible, and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg’s
eyes brightened for an instant.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and

Fix, who hurried towards him.

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not
speak. “Sir,” he stammered, “sir—forgive me—a most—
unfortunate resemblance—robber arrested three days ago—
you—are free!”

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him

steadily in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever
made in his life, or which he ever would make, drew back his
arms, and with the precision of a machine, knocked Fix down.

“Well hit!” cried Passepartout, “Parbleu! that’s what you might

call a good application of English fists!”

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had
only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout
left the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a
few moments descended at the station.

Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave

for London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had
left thirty-five minutes before.

Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.

300
There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until
three o’clock.

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by

the offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London
with Aouda and his faithful servant.

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half;

and this would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But
there were forced delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the
train at the terminus, all the clocks in London were striking ten
minutes before nine.13

Having made the tour of the world, he was behindhand five

minutes. He had lost the wager!

13 A somewhat remarkable eccentricity on the part of the

London clocks.—TRANSLATOR

301
C H A P T E R XXXV

In which Phileas Fogg does not have to repeat his orders to

Passepartout twice

HE dwellers in Saville Row would have been

surprised, the next day, if they had been told that Phileas Fogg
had returned home. His doors and windows were still closed, no
appearance of change was

visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout

instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to
his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And

by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily
traversed that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles,
braved many dangers, and still found time to do some good on
his way, to fail near the goal by a sudden event which he could
not have foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was
terrible! But a few pounds were left of the large sum he had
carried with him. There only remained of his fortune the twenty
thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he
owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the

302
expense of his tour, that, even had he won, it would not have
enriched him; and it is probable that he had not sought to
enrich himself, being a man who rather laid wagers for honour’s
sake than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined
him.

Mr. Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew

what remained for him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda,
who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector’s misfortune.
From the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was
meditating some serious project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes

resort to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept
a narrow watch upon his master, though he carefully concealed
the appearance of so doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas-burner, which had been burning for eighty
days. He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas
company, and he thought it more than time to put a stop to this
expense, which he had been doomed to bear.

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The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep?
Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all
night, like a faithful dog, at his master’s door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’s
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired
Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time
would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the
evening he would ask permission to have a few moment’s
conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but

obey them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could
scarcely bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his
conscience tortured by remorse; for he accused himself more
bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievable
disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix’s
projects to him, his master would certainly not have given the
detective passage to Liverpool, and then—

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

“My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me? It
was my fault that—”

“I blame no one,” returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.

“Go!”

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Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom
he delivered his master’s message.

“Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing!

I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—” “What

influence could I have?” replied Aouda. “Mr.

Fogg is influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my

gratitude to him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My
friend, he must not be left alone an instant! You say he is going
to speak with me this evening?”

“Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and

comfort in England.”

“We shall see,” replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if

uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had
lived in that house, did not set out for his club when
Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no

longer expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in
the saloon on the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of
December, at a quarter before nine), he had lost his wager. It
was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for the
twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his
check in their hands, and they had only to fill it out and send it
to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit.

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Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he
remained at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied
himself putting his affairs in order. Passepartout

continually ascended and descended the stairs. The hours were

long for him. He listened at his master’s door, and looked
through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do, and
as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any
moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger.
Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and
had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him; while he,
Passepartout— This thought haunted him, and he never ceased
cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at

Aouda’s door, went into her room, seated himself, without
speaking, in a corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman.
Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if

Aouda would receive him, and in a few moments he found
himself alone with her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace,
opposite Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg
returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away; there was
the same calm, the same impassibility.

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He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes
on Aouda, “Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for bringing
you to England?”

“I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her

heart.

“Please let me finish,” returned Mr. Fogg. “When I decided to

bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for
you, I was rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune
at your disposal; then your existence would have been free and
happy. But now I am ruined.”

“I know it, Mr. Fogg,” replied Aouda; “and I ask you, in my turn,
will you forgive me for having followed you, and— who knows?—
for having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your
ruin?”

“Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could
only be assured by bringing you to such a distance that your
persecutors could not take you.”

“So, Mr. Fogg,” resumed Aouda, “not content with rescuing me

from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my
comfort in a foreign land?”

“Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me.

307
Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service.” “But
what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?”

“As for me, madam,” replied the gentleman, coldly, “I have need
of nothing.”

“But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?”

“As I am in the habit of doing.”

“At least,” said Aouda, “want should not overtake a man like
you. Your friends—”

“I have no friends, madam.” “Your relatives—”

“I have no longer any relatives.”

“I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no
heart to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that
misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne
with patience.”

“They say so, madam.”

“Mr. Fogg,” said Aouda, rising, and seizing his hand, “do you
wish at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for
your wife?”

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in
his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his
face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this
soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to
whom she owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He

308
shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he
opened them again,

“I love you!” he said, simply. “Yes, by all that is holiest, I love

you, and I am entirely yours!”

“Ah!” cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart. Passepartout

was summoned and appeared immediately.

Mr. Fogg still held Aouda’s hand in his own; Passepartout

understood, and his big, round face became as radiant as the
tropical sun at its zenith.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend
Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone Parish, that evening.
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said,

“Never too late.”

It was five minutes past eight.

“Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?”

“For to-morrow, Monday,” said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

“Yes; for to-morrow, Monday,” she replied. Passepartout hurried

off as fast as his legs could carry

him.

309
C H A P T E R XXXVI

In which Phileas Fogg’s name is once more at a premium on

’Change

T is time to relate what a change took place in English public

opinion, when it transpired that the real bank- robber, a certain
James Strand, had been arrested, on the 17th of December, at
Edinburgh. Three days before, Phileas Fogg had been a
criminal, who was being desperately followed up by the police;
now he was an honourable gentleman, mathematically pursuing
his eccentric journey

round the world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those
who had laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if
by magic; the “Phileas Fogg bonds” again became negotiable,
and many new wagers were made. Phileas Fogg’s name was
once more at a premium on ’Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a
state of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had
forgotten, reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this
moment? The 17th of December, the day of James Strand’s
arrest, was the seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg’s departure,

310
and no news of him had been received. Was he dead? Had he
abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey along
the route agreed upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the
21st of December, at a

quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold of the

Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed,

cannot be described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia
for news of Phileas Fogg. Messengers were despatched to the
house in Saville Row morning and evening. No news. The police
were ignorant what had become of the detective, Fix, who had
so unfortunately followed up a false scent. Bets increased,
nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like a race-
horse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds were
quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten,
and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his
favour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring

streets on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of
brokers permanently established around the Reform Club.
Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes, discussions,
and financial transactions were going on. The police had great
difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when

311
Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to its
highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great

saloon of the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the
bankers, Andrew Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the
director of the Bank of England, and Thomas Flanagan, the
brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty-five 14 minutes past eight,

Andrew Stuart got up, saying, “Gentlemen, in twenty minutes
the time agreed upon between Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have
expired.”

14 Previous editions read “twenty minutes past eight.” which is

25 minutes before the deadline, not 20 as Stuart says. The
original French reads “huit heures vingt-cinq,” i.e., twenty-five
minutes past eight.—J.M.

“What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?” asked
Thomas Flanagan.

“At twenty-three minutes past seven,” replied Gauthier Ralph;

“and the next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve.”

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“Well, gentlemen,” resumed Andrew Stuart, “if Phileas Fogg had
come in the 7.23 train, he would have got here by this time. We
can therefore regard the bet as won.”

“Wait; don’t let us be too hasty,” replied Samuel Fallentin. “You

know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well
known; he never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not
be surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute.”

“Why,” said Andrew Stuart nervously, “if I should see him, I

should not believe it was he.”

“The fact is,” resumed Thomas Flanagan, “Mr. Fogg’s project

was absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not
prevent the delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of
only two or three days would be fatal to his tour.”

“Observe, too,” added John Sullivan, “that we have received no

intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all
along his route.”

“He has lost, gentleman,” said Andrew Stuart,—“he has a

hundred times lost! You know, besides, that the China— the only
steamer he could have taken from New York to get here in
time—arrived yesterday. I have seen a list of the passengers,
and the name of Phileas Fogg is not among them. Even if we
admit that fortune has favoured him, he can scarcely have
reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days
behindhand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five
thousand.”

313
“It is clear,” replied Gauthier Ralph; “and we have nothing to do
but to present Mr. Fogg’s check at Barings to-morrow.”

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty

minutes to nine.

“Five minutes more,” said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was

becoming intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily
assented to Mr. Fallentin’s proposal of a rubber.

“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand of the bet,” said Andrew

Stuart, as he took his seat, “for three thousand nine hundred
and ninety-nine.”

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes
off the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had
never seemed so long to them!

“Seventeen minutes to nine,” said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut

the cards which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was

perfectly quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were
heard, with now and then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the

314
seconds, which each player eagerly counted, as he listened, with
mathematical regularity.

“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, in a voice which

betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart
and his partners suspended their game. They left their cards,
and counted the seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by

applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and

the pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas
Fogg appeared, followed by an excited crowd who had forced
their way through the club doors, and in his calm voice, said,
“Here I am, gentlemen!”

315
C H A P T E R XXXVII

In which it is shown that Phileas Fogg gained nothing by his

tour around the world, unless it were happiness

ES; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening—about five and twenty

hours after the arrival of the travellers in London— Passepartout

had been sent by his master to engage the services of the
Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage ceremony, which
was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached

the clergyman’s house, but found him not at home.
Passepartout waited a good twenty minutes, and when he left
the reverend gentleman, it was thirty-five minutes past eight.
But in what a state he was! With his hair in disorder, and without
his hat, he ran along the street as never man was seen to run
before, overturning passers-by, rushing over the sidewalk like a
waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered

breathlessly into Mr. Fogg’s room.

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He could not speak.

“What is the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“My master!” gasped Passepartout,—“marriage— impossible—”

“Impossible?”

“Impossible—for to-morrow.” “Why so?”

“Because to-morrow—is Sunday!” “Monday,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“No—to-day—is Saturday.” “Saturday? Impossible!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cried Passepartout. “You have made a

mistake of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of
time; but there are only ten minutes left!”

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was

dragging him along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left

his house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the
cabman, and, having run over two dogs and overturned five
carriages, reached the Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in

the great saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in

eighty days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

317
How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have
made this error of a day? How came he to think that he had
arrived in London on Saturday, the twenty-first day of
December, when it was really Friday, the twentieth, the seventy-
ninth day only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his
journey, and this merely because he had travelled constantly
eastward; he would, on the contrary, have lost a day, had he
gone in the opposite direction, that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the

days therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes
as he crossed degrees in this direction. There

are three hundred and sixty degrees on the circumference of

the earth; and these three hundred and sixty degrees, multiplied
by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four hours—that is, the
day unconsciously gained. In other words, while Phileas Fogg,
going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty times, his
friends in London only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine
times. This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on
Saturday, and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

318
And Passepartout’s famous family watch, which had always
kept London time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had
marked the days as well as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but
as he had spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the
pecuniary gain was small. His object was, however, to be
victorious, and not to win money. He divided the one thousand
pounds that remained between Passepartout and the
unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no grudge. He
deducted, however, from Passepartout’s share the cost of the
gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and
twenty hours, for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said

to Aouda, “Is our marriage still agreeable to you?” “Mr. Fogg,”
replied she, “it is for me to ask that question.

You were ruined, but now you are rich again.”

“Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not

suggested our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the
Reverend Samuel Wilson’s, I should not have been apprised of
my error, and—”

“Dear Mr. Fogg!” said the young woman. “Dear Aouda!” replied
Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty- eight
hours after, and that Passepartout, glowing and

319
dazzling, gave the bride away. Had he not saved her, and was
he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped

vigorously at his master’s door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked,
“What’s the matter, Passepartout?”

“What is it, sir? Why, I’ve just this instant found out—” “What?”

“That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-
eight days.”

“No doubt,” returned Mr. Fogg, “by not crossing India. But if I
had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she
would not have been my wife, and—”

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey
around the world in eighty days. To do this, he had employed
every means of conveyance—steamers, railways, carriages,
yachts, trading-vessels, sledges, elephants. The eccentric
gentleman had throughout displayed all his marvellous qualities
of coolness and exactitude. But what then? What had he really
gained by all this trouble? What had he brought back from this
long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman,

who, strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the
world?

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